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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978434">Lily of the Valley</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiyuki/pseuds/Kiiyuki'>Kiiyuki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apathetic Harry Potter, Aristocrat - Freeform, Black Family Madness (Harry Potter), Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Creature Inheritance, Dark Fantasy, Dark Harry, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Morality, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Has a Sibling, Harry Potter is the Heir to the House of Black, Horror, Magical Culture, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Manipulation, Necromancer Harry Potter, Politics, Possessive Tom Riddle, Psychological Horror, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Sane Tom Riddle, Seer Harry Potter, Violence, dark themes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:34:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>49,581</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiyuki/pseuds/Kiiyuki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There were three rules at the Dursleys.</p><p>Number one, stay unseen and quiet. </p><p>Number two, finish all the chores by evening. </p><p>And number three, all things freaky are not allowed. </p><p>-</p><p>Lily of the Valley; sweetly scented flowering blossom with dainty white bells bearing crimson berries. How innocent. How deceiving - from the roots to the leaves, from the flowers to the berries. How poisonous.</p><p>From white lilies, a fruit of red was born.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellatrix Black Lestrange &amp; Harry Potter, Harry Potter &amp; Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy &amp; Harry Potter, Regulus Black &amp; Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dark Liege Potter, The Harry Potters</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. name me after the sun and I shall scorch the earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lily of the Valley; sweetly scented flowering blossom with dainty white bells bearing crimson berries. How innocent. How deceiving - from the roots to the leaves, from the flowers to the berries. How poisonous.</p><p>From white lilies, a fruit of red was born.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Edited; 4/4/2021.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>“A ghost; that’s what I am.”</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>1989 to 1990; </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>There were three rules at the Dursleys.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>One, stay unseen and quiet.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Like clockwork, she woke at five every morning. A twist of the knob, the crackling of the stove. Sizzling bacon and whistling kettle. Cutleries neatly arranged on the lace dollies, eggs on toast, bacon on the side, three cups of steaming breakfast tea. Bubbles to her elbows, standing atop a stool, scrubbing and wiping till the frying pan gleamed, reflecting the blurry white blob she always associated with herself.</p><p> </p><p>Everything she touched was returned to their rightful place, and as she stepped out of the kitchen, back into her dusty cupboard, curling atop a mouldy mattress, staring emptily into space –</p><p> </p><p>- the alarm rang at six.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Two, finish all chores by evening.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>A woman’s place is in the house, seen but not heard,</em> Uncle Vernon loved to say. Then what did that make of her? Like some sort of a ghostly apparition slinking out of the cupboard at seven-thirty-five, silently washing up the greasy dishes, vacuuming the crumbs off the carpet, wiping down every nook and cranny of the house, her hands wrinkly, her clothes dusty.</p><p> </p><p>Hunger numbing into faint discomfort for every drink was measured, every food was catalogued. And if she took a quick shower, the bathroom tiles must be dried, the laundry cleaned and the sink spotless. No traces of her ever using any of the facilities must be left, lest she incurred another beating.</p><p> </p><p>Lest she was reduced into nothing more than a stress ball.</p><p> </p><p>And in the afternoon, when Aunt Petunia returns, she is let out like a stray mutt, lowered eyes never meeting the scornful sneer, into the garden. Absently munching on the bitter-sweet petals, her breakfast-lunch-dinner, while yanking out every plant that marred the scenic landscape of the courtyard, sprinkling water onto the rhododendrons, the rose bushes, then drinking any that remained at the bottom of the watering can.</p><p> </p><p>At five, she is let in and made to cook dinner under her aunt’s watchful gaze. Her slowly peeling the vegetables, carefully dicing them into cubes for the stew. Perhaps, if things were not so strained between them, she would have grown to love the quiet shared among her Aunt and her, the white noise of knife chopping and stew bubbling, the faint sizzling of roasted meat. A scene painfully similar to the commercials playing on the telly, of a mother and daughter. Yet, as it were, the spell was broken exactly at six, when Dudley returned home from primary school, running into the kitchen to be fawned affectionately by Aunt Petunia.</p><p> </p><p>She turned her back on the happy family, silently returning back to her cupboard.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Three, all things freaky are not allowed.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>What constitutes as freaky were determined capriciously by the Dursleys. From the way she looked to the strange animals she attracted. From seeing wisps of colours to hearing voices none could hear. From levitating small objects to healing from all bruises overnight. What is normal, she does not know. Was never having a name normal? Or was being kept in this house for all her life, only seeing the sun when permitted, normal?</p><p> </p><p>Deep down, she knew, from the way Dudley was loved, her treatment was far from normal. The slap she received when she accidentally called Aunt Petunia ‘mummy’, the crack of his belt whenever Uncle Vernon got a little too drunk, the rocks her Cousin Dudley pelted at her in the garden. Being blamed, being scolded, being ignored – abnormality turned normal.</p><p> </p><p>Labelled a freak for having hair whiter than snow and eyes devoid of pupils. Milky and unseeing, as though looking through them. But what took the cake was the dead puppy they made her bury coming back to life, scaring the living daylights out of her relatives. Ever since then, their treatment grew harsher, colder.</p><p> </p><p><em>This is not normal, you do realise.</em> Cheshire said, licking off her tears.</p><p> </p><p>But she has always been like this, so she didn’t question it. Dead animals coming back to life. Understanding animals instinctively and being loved yet feared - and wasn’t that strange? – by them. Voices in her head that whispers secrets of others. Out of all her freakishness, the whispers were her favourite. It made being locked in her cupboard bearable and a little less lonely. And sometimes, they would whisper back things and strange things would occur. Strange things like freezing something or disappearing then reappearing on the roof – the Dursleys never let her out after that incident.</p><p> </p><p>The whispers taught her all sorts of things, things that the Dursleys would consider ‘freakish’. Like how she knew that during Halloween, the dead would rise faster and how during Easter, she would get sluggish and heal slower. Like how they taught her to read even though the voices are all in her head, and she shouldn’t have understood the alphabets if no one ever taught her. Sometimes, they would hum melodies she never knew of, and the pain and bruises would fade by morning. Occasionally, the melodies would be accompanied with lyrics of a language she never knew of but understood intuitively; the sibilant songs lulling her to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>The imaginary turned reality. When lines between fantasy and reality blurred, her sense of normality twisted into what one would consider far from normal.</p><p> </p><p><em>It’s fine</em> – as long as she has Cheshire, the little grey kitten that followed her home from Mrs Figgs, and the whispers keeping her company, she’s contended in her little world.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>“I should name the whispers?’ She furrowed her brows as she stared at her pet (her friend), “calling them whispers is just fine, isn’t it?” Hands continued pulling the weeds, uncaring of their sharp leaves slicing her palms.</p><p> </p><p>“Meow,” replied Cheshire indignantly.</p><p> </p><p>She huffed at the cat, pausing at ripping out the weeds. “Hm,” resting her chin on her palms, she stared determinedly into Cheshire’s green, green eyes (though much deeper than her own) and decided after a thoughtful minute, “Mana.”</p><p> </p><p>“Meow?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mana means spiritual powers,” she grinned, “I think it’s quite apt considering the Dursleys’ revulsion to anything spiritual, isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>Cheshire purred in approval.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>During the monotony of her days at the Dursleys, her thoughts would drift to her parents; a whore for a mother, and a drunkard for a father – or at least, according to Aunt Petunia. Abandoned, she had said. Left on the doorstep like the milk bottles. She tried to catch her thoughts before they reached that point. They were useless to her survival and only allowed Petunia’s words to hurt her, clenching her chest tightly and bringing tears to her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>And she didn’t like crying, it stuffs her nose and blurs her vision. Neither did the Dursleys’. Then again, they seemed to hate everything except for Dudley so their opinions don’t matter; at least, that was what she told herself. But in the dead of the night when Mana was silent and Cheshire was sleeping, curled up around her, she would still dream of someone breaking through the front door – saving her. She’ll be able to escape the Dursleys and live her own life, where she could eat proper meals and take a hot shower every day without feeling fearful of her relatives’ looming shadows. And perhaps, just perhaps, she might be loved.</p><p> </p><p>To say that she was weary of living in this birdcage would be an understatement. She was constantly alert all the time, aware of every single shift in mood and tensing at every little sound she makes. She wanted to live in peace with Cheshire and Mana and –</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do you want to leave this place?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she immediately whispered back, voice choking up from unshed tears. “I don’t want to live in fear anymore. I don’t want to be controlled and I don’t want to be chained to this birdcage.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Then, allow us to guide you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“How? I just turned seven and I can’t live out there on my own.” Hissing back furiously, the helplessness eating her up, unable to take any action, so powerless - how pathetic.</p><p> </p><p>I<em>n the attic, there is a box with lilies on it, you shall find the answers you seek.</em></p><p> </p><p>And with that cryptic message, Mana reverted back into soft humming.</p><p> </p><p>She knew she shouldn’t hope, for hope is the cruellest torture of all, paralysing in a way while feeding the obsession that things will be better and she would finally be able to leave this cage.</p><p> </p><p>But just this once, she will listen to Mana, for it has never failed her before.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>When Dudley was away at school, Aunt Petunia at a tea party and Uncle Vernon was at work, she snuck into the attic, clutching Cheshire close to her chest. Being the narcissistic thing it was (<em>no, Chessy, I don’t think all cats are as vain as you, yes your beautiful fur is okay, now would you please help me with the rats – what do you mean it’s not your job?!),</em> it refused to step on the dirty floorboards for fear of dust clinging to its fur.</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, the attic was quite barren, save for a single wooden wardrobe and some lamps. She figured with the way the Dursleys were spending, there would be more stuff.</p><p> </p><p>And the aforementioned box with lilies was sitting conspicuously in the centre of the attic.</p><p> </p><p>She stared.</p><p> </p><p>And stared.</p><p> </p><p>Cheshire meowed, deadpanned, which she didn’t think that a cat could even do that.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not suspicious at all…” She muttered, stepping closer to the box and gingerly sat down. That vain thing settled itself on her lap, the duo peering warily at the box.</p><p> </p><p>It was a pretty thing – vintage, and old, but still pretty – with four lilies carved onto the lid. It was slightly larger than a jewellery box but smaller than a toast box.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>… there wouldn’t be anything jumping out at us, would there?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The humming intensified slightly, like a huff or a sigh, before reverting back to normal.</p><p> </p><p>Silently praying to whatever that’s up there – <em>please don’t let it be infested with rats, please, please, please</em> – she gingerly lifted the lid, a curtain of dust floating around them like a dome, revealing a bundle of yellowed letters.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Cheshire pawed at her cheek, snapping her out of the stupor.</p><p> </p><p>She expected something – maybe money or jewellery or anything she can pawn off after running away from the Dursleys. But letters? They didn’t seem very helpful, considering the letter at the very top was addressed to a Petunia Evans.</p><p> </p><p>But Mana never failed her before, so she carefully hid the package in her cupboard, right next to Cheshire’s makeshift bed, and continued with her chores. She would read it at night when the Dursleys were asleep.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>She wished she hadn’t read the letters.</p><p> </p><p>Solaria Potter was her name, and she was a witch. Not just any normal witch, but younger sister to a so-called ‘boy-who-lived’, the messiah of a society of magical people known as the wizarding world.</p><p> </p><p>She stared at the photograph.</p><p> </p><p>A toddler ‘<em>Hadrian James Potter’</em> with messy black hair, dark green eyes and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead was held by a couple. One with flaming hair and green eyes while the other had the same messy dark hair and hazel eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t in it.</p><p> </p><p>It was dated December 1983.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, according to the letters, she was born in the end of December, 1982. She didn’t know what hurts more. The fact that her mother – bright fiery hair and emerald eyes framing the dazzling smile – had left her on the doorstep of No. 4 Privet Drive or the fact that she was sparsely mentioned in the letters, except for a <em>I hope you’ll take care of Aria</em> <em>in place of her godparents.</em></p><p> </p><p>The letter dating back to last summer gushed about how Hadrian was so talented with magic and the fame was tiring but thankfully the ‘Death Eaters’ are inactive and it is all safe again.</p><p> </p><p>If it was safe, why was she still here?</p><p> </p><p>If she was left in this muggle world for her safety, why didn’t they come back for her?</p><p> </p><p>An <em>‘Alice Longbottom’</em> and <em>‘Regulus Black’</em> were named godparents. They are still alive if the contents of the letters were to be believed.</p><p> </p><p>At this point, she wanted it to be a lie.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Did no one want her?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>After her shock, she burnt the letters.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Anger, frustration and betrayal swirled within her as she continued with her daily routine. But at the same time, there was a certain emptiness in her as if her bones are hollow; breaking at any moment. Fraying apart at the edges, loosely held in place by the betrayal.</p><p> </p><p>The pain was a good distraction.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>And when the clock struck midnight during Halloween –</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Mana, teach me how to curse someone.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>… as you wish.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>There was an ancient form of magic where magical humans used insects to do their bidding. Insects were scavengers of the Earth, consuming whatever’s there for them and returning to nature when they fulfilled their duty, only to be consumed by others.</p><p> </p><p>According to Mana, this ritual was considered black magic as it irreversibly curse the victim. There were other curses available, but her body isn’t ready for the strain of the magical drain. Black magic was taboo, the most immoral form of magic there is. From the letters, she learned a little about the Light faction being at war with the Dark faction and Magical Britain was in a civil war, and she couldn’t help but scoff.</p><p> </p><p>How ironic – abandoning a baby to be raised by monsters and then claiming black magic is immoral.</p><p> </p><p>To Aria, there is no difference.</p><p> </p><p>Both are the same.</p><p> </p><p>She wonders if her moral compass was messed up after living at the Dursleys’. Here she was, planning the murder of her relatives and she’s musing about the ethics of black magic. Perhaps being raised in a burning house led her to believe the world is on fire. But if it meant her safety, her continued survival, her <em>freedom – </em>then was it not appropriate to scorch every single obstacles down?</p><p> </p><p>In their complacency, they never considered what would happen when the heat accumulated into a stellar explosion - did the Dursleys not expect to be burnt?</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The ritual was fairly simple. The large jar was fished out from the corner of the garden and a humming melody from Mana sent insects (centipedes, scorpions, spiders) scuttling into the jar.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t even have to touch it. Though she had to dig the hole with Cheshire’s help (yes, I’ll brush you later and wash you after the Dursleys are dead, so hurry up!) and bury the jar into the hole that went up to her knees.</p><p> </p><p>The ravens brought asphodel seeds that she didn’t think were native from Britain and the ravens didn’t stay long enough for her to ask.</p><p> </p><p>And that was it. No blood sacrifices or animal corpses. Aside from the dirt, it was pretty neat and tidy.</p><p> </p><p>All in all, they managed to finish it by dawn and Mana said that Samhain – not Halloween – will fuel the ritual and by the end of the week, it will be ready for harvest.</p><p> </p><p>It felt like planting carrots.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>11 November 1990</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>A week later, she understood why it was classified as a black magic ritual.</p><p> </p><p>After harvesting the jar and opening it, there was a small centipede was curled up in the centre, the asphodels laid neatly at her side.</p><p> </p><p>Aria had made friends with the spiders in her cupboard and insects always seem to stay away from her unless she went searching for them. So, by virtue, she wasn’t afraid of most insects – including centipedes. But the moment she opened the jar, she could hear the deep, echoing hum emitting from the centipede and smell the metallic scent of blood and earth and death. And as the creator - the initiator - of the ritual, she was able to sense the centipede’s instincts, base and primal.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Eat and multiply.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And the sight, <em>oh</em>, the sight.</p><p> </p><p>Thick black tendrils partially curling around the centipede like a black silk cocoon and dissipating like smoke when she poked it. Like Mana, the smoke whispered to her in a deep, velvety voice that felt as though she was safe. <em>Feed me to them</em>, it purred, <em>may your enemies suffer from eternal hunger.</em></p><p> </p><p>And she obeyed.</p><p> </p><p>She had hidden Cheshire from the Dursleys’ since she was three and up till now, they still didn’t know about the large cat living in her cupboard. By comparison, a small centipede was easy.</p><p> </p><p>It was even easier to slip it into the whiskey she served Vernon every night.</p><p> </p><p>She held her breath as she watched Vernon bring the glass to his pale, wrinkled lips, downing it in one smooth shot (like always). His bobbing Adam’s apple seemed reminiscent to her quickening heartbeat.</p><p> </p><p>A slam of glass against the table jolted her.</p><p> </p><p> “Go back to your cupboard!”</p><p> </p><p>A large hand gripping her bony arms tightly and Aria was shoved into her prison-turned-sanctuary. Cheshire emerged from the shadowy corner the moment Vernon locked the locks, and curled around her small frame.</p><p> </p><p>The humming around her intensified, feeling it reverberating through hollow bones, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings and warming up her entire body. She thinks she could get addicted to this tension, this anticipation, this adrenaline.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Keep the asphodels on you and you will not be harmed. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She obeyed, arms wrapping Cheshire and hands clutching the asphodels. The duo peered out of small slits in the door.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Let the feast begin.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. imprison me in a cage and I shall hunger for freedom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: depictions of violence &amp; gore</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"the gluttons dig their own graves with their teeth."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It started with a slight craving, teeth grinding against each other as he trudged his way down the stairs. A hunger for something rich and filling, like the roast beef they had for dinner that night. The carefully wrapped leftovers were heated up and he relished the sensation of warm flesh down his gullet.</p><p> </p><p>One bite after the other, juices trickling down his chin, gulping down the meat, then the large bowl of seared vegetables and even a tub of minty chocolate ice cream and yet, he was still<em> hungry.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>With every meal he consumed, his appetite increased, knotted pain churning in his belly – as if there’s something inside. He needed more food, more drinks, more something to ease the gnawing emptiness.</p><p> </p><p>Meaty hands grabbed at every food he could reach, from chocolate cakes to raw slices of ham and uncooked vegetables<em>. </em>Jaw furiously chewing until the impatience finally won out and he started swallowing all the food, all the liquids down. The fridge was nearly empty but <em>it still wasn’t enough.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He wanted, needed, desired more. But, the fridge and the cupboards and the drawers were empty and it was too late for restaurants to deliver. <em>What else, what else, what else? </em>Then his gaze landed on the freezer, and he paused.</p><p> </p><p>But he was too hungry, too impatient, to cook the meat and the ravenous chasm needed to be filled immediately. They were like hard slabs of ice when he tried tearing the meat with his teeth. It was similar to crunching on ice, he realised belatedly. Compared to his hunger, his aching gums were easily dismissed. And the metallic taste was addictive – <em>did raw meat always taste this good?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>It doesn’t matter for his hunger had finally – <em>finally! </em>– subsided with the last piece of raw chicken. Having gorged himself of all the available food in sight, he was sated, the sleepy euphoria of a food coma settled over him.</p><p> </p><p>Bleary-eyed, he shuffled back to his room, a distant reminder to tell his lovely wife to replenish the kitchen and the – <em>what was that?</em></p><p> </p><p>Faintly metallic and yet so sweet and alluring that it aroused the hunger.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Where? Where is it? Where – there. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>From the cupboard under the stairs, he spotted a few russet spots near the door. The scent was practically calling for him to lick it, his tongue lapping up the dried blood, drenching them in his saliva.</p><p> </p><p>But when he stepped closer to the cupboard, a stench so strong it was reminisce of a rotten corpse struck him in the face. Disgusted, he wrenched back. Oh, right. The freak was inside there and it probably had sullied itself. His hunger wilted immediately.</p><p> </p><p>He had no desire to investigate any further and drowsily walked back to his room.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Her heart stopped for a moment, the dizzy anxiety swirling inside of her as Vernon stepped closer to her cupboard. <em>Flashes of large hands squeezing her neck and crushing her arms and the sharp crack, no, no, nonono</em> –</p><p> </p><p>“Meow.”</p><p> </p><p>Rough tongue licked against her cheek and she jolted to attention. The asphodel was clutched tightly in one hand and the other had a white-knuckled grip on Cheshire’s fur.</p><p> </p><p>Aria inhaled greedy gulps of air as dust floated down from the cupboard ceiling, signalling that Vernon had went back upstairs. She had to steady herself, to bring her emotions back to an equilibrium, <em>she can’t</em> <em>afford to feel</em> –</p><p> </p><p>She imagined shoving all her emotions into a chest and wrap it with chains and vines.  “What-” she cleared her throat softly, “-what was that?” She murmured, less to Mana and more to herself. Regardless, Mana hummed, summoning a cold breeze to cool her flushed body before answering her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The asphodel kept him away.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No! I meant the, the whole gorging himself and, and eating all of the food.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Cheshire purred in low soothing tones as she felt Aria tense and getting agitated. She didn’t understand the scene they saw – the fat human was stuffing himself like always – but <em>her</em> beloved human was getting worked up and as the more responsible one, she had to calm her human down.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The curse works by slowly driving the victim insane through insatiable hunger until all food within sight is consumed.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>With the usual emotionless quality to Mana’s voice and Cheshire’s painful licks, she felt the tension ease away.</p><p> </p><p><em>Vernon will stuff himself to death? </em>An approving hum. <em>How appropriate. </em>She scoffed. <em>It doesn’t seem like much, considering this is a black magic ritual.</em> <em>It feels too… too light. </em>She frowned, she had expected something more. Something befitting of labelled as <em>black</em> magic.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>As I’ve said, ‘until all food, within sight,  is consumed’.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>“Dad?”</p><p> </p><p>Vernon turned, bleary eyes sharpening into focus as he stared at Dudley – <em>his precious son – </em>rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. The hunger returned, and so did the pain and the craving. The <em>urge </em>to bite into soft, warm flesh and feel it slide down his gullet, into his stomach to feel the heady satisfaction of a good meal eaten.</p><p> </p><p>“Dad?!” His son called him again, confused, as he walked towards him with crazed eyes. <em>His son – no, now Dudley isn’t his son</em>, he thought as he pushed him down, his larger body pinning the other to the floor. <em>He is his food, his prey, his meal.</em></p><p>It was a fruitless struggle as his meal wriggled beneath his heavier frame like a worm, a piece of meat to be eaten, hot and warm. It was just right there in front of him, beneath him, within his grasp.</p><p> </p><p>As he pressed his mouth against the fat, fleshy neck, he breathed, savouring the scent, before he sunk his teeth into the flesh, tearing the piece of meat away, ignoring the shrieks and pleas and <em>dad, dad nonono, help me, it hurtshurtshurts.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Distantly, he heard a woman screaming at something as he bit and tore and chewed, repeating the cycle again and again. With every bite, scarlet red gushed into his mouth, dripping down his chin and soaked his pyjamas.</p><p> </p><p>The prey was fat, but he managed to dig his teeth through chest muscles and tissues, finally reaching the heart. It was a small thing, no larger than his fist, steadily pulsing in beat with his own laboured breathing.</p><p> </p><p>So red and so full of life’s liquid, and it was all his and <em> – </em></p><p> </p><p>Everything went black, the sharp throbbing pain and the little heart stilling was the last he felt.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Petunia slumped down onto the floor, back resting against the wall as she cradled the shotgun to her chest. She had just, had just – no, she can’t bring herself to face what she did. But Dudley, her precious duddikins, was screaming and shrieking in pain as her husband – <em>the father of her son</em> – gnawed away at Dudley like one of Marge’s rabid dogs.</p><p> </p><p>The freak must have done something, she realised as tears streamed freely down her cheeks. Because Vernon wouldn’t act like this. He wouldn’t murder his son, wouldn’t have treated their duddikins like a piece of meat. <em>Lily’s daughter did this. </em>And she was too late to save him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>(and perhaps she didn’t want to believe she had murdered her husband like how he murdered their son.)</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Sirens drowned out her sobs.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>(and a little centipede wriggled out of a nostril, dissipating into ashes.)</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The next few days passed in a blur. Policemen trampled around the house as a woman asked questions and questions about her living conditions and what did she did all day, persistent in the endeavour even while the girl –<em> Solaria Potter </em>– remained in a catatonic state, creepy green eyes devoid of pupils staring blankly at the wooden floorboards.</p><p> </p><p>It was irritating.</p><p> </p><p>The static voices over walkie-talkies and shouts booming around the house drowned out the whispers. She couldn’t hear Mana and the flashes of scenes filling her head overwhelmed her. She kept her gaze down, trying to avoid meeting someone’s eyes, trying to avoid the visions and the sound.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t need to know that the social worker hated her job and the policeman in the kitchen had watched someone’s life flicker out in front of him. She didn’t want to know such things.</p><p> </p><p>The only comfort she had was Cheshire curling around her, grounding her.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The Dursley double murder was the talk of the neighbourhood. Petunia had been declared innocent as it was self-defence. Vernon was declared mentally ill and Dudley was an unfortunate victim. It was a clear cut double murder and self-defence.</p><p> </p><p>The girl in the cupboard under the stairs was disregarded.</p><p> </p><p>And with that, the case was closed within a week.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Aria had considered killing her aunt as well, letting her join her precious family (<em>because she’s not considered family to them) </em>in their eternal slumber. But the consequences were enough to stop her from doing another ritual or using magic.</p><p> </p><p>They would place her in a foster home or a children’s home and she would be controlled – caged up – again. She can’t afford messing up now that she’s halfway to gaining freedom.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she gazed at her aunt’s gaunt face, skimming through her memories of the past, trying to gain more information about this so-called wizarding world. She knew – from Mana – that there was a large concentration of ambient magic in London. But how to get into that place was another problem altogether.</p><p> </p><p>It was boring and bland, like how she expected her aunt’s memories and life to be. Apparently, her bitterness and hatred of magic was carried over from the moment an ‘<em>Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock</em>’ had rejected her application from Hogwarts, the school of wizardry and witchcraft, as Petunia was a squib.</p><p> </p><p>A squib; a person with the body of a wizard but unable to perform magic, the so-called <em>disgrace of the family.</em></p><p> </p><p>And Aria had paid for her envy. How distressing and envious Petunia must be, being reminded constantly that she was unable to perform magic and she was inferior to the <em>special Lily</em> and, now, Lily’s daughter.</p><p> </p><p>A shard of Petunia’s soul caught her attention. It was covered in slimy, disgusting green sludge – <em>perhaps a reflection of her envy?</em> Focusing on that, she plunged into the memory.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A dingy old bar with a leaky cauldron as a sign. Bricks sliding across each other. Bursts of colours. Flying brooms, floating candles, bustling shops. The excited chatter of Lily. A flying measuring tape and black robes. Musty books and yellowed parchment. And strong, intense jealousy swirling around her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aria blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“Cheshire,” she spoke softly, scratching behind its ear as it lounged on her lap, “I think I know where to go.” A faint smile graced her features.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s time to go to Diagon Alley.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So! We get some cannibalism (did anyone expect that?) and some hints about Aria's physical appearance and her abilities. I hope I depicted the scenes good enough for your tastes. Any mistakes are my own, it's not beta-ed.</p><p>Please leave a kudos and comments giving constructive criticism of my writing. I hope that my writing skills will improve with every chapter.</p><p>Next chapter: Diagon Alley, Gringotts and meeting Kreacher.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. he was my father but I never knew him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Diagon Alley isn't as fun as she thought it'd be. </p><p>Kreacher is weird.</p><p>Mana isn't Mana.</p><p>Aria doesn't understand anything anymore.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>16 November 1990</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She stared up at shady establishment, blinking in disbelief. She was certain that the directions she took from Petunia’s mind had been correct, and she had never doubted Mana’s words. For wizards who fancy living in secrecy, they are certainly old fashioned.</p><p> </p><p>The pub looked like one of the old, period movies that she often caught a glimpse of on the telly. She just hoped she won’t be kidnapped.</p><p> </p><p>Ensuring her fringe hid her eyes, she clutched Cheshire close to her chest - and it was not easy as the cat was half of her size and it’s <em>heavy</em> - (She made a mental note to put Cheshire on a diet ) she walked into the pub.</p><p> </p><p>And suddenly she felt underdressed in a too-large sweater that came down to her knees (<em>Dudley’s old clothes</em>), fleece-lined jeans <em>(from Dudley</em>) and old sneakers that Dudley <em>(again)</em> grew out of. She needed to get herself new clothes, clothes that actually fit her. The patrons were dressed in something that look like a cloak (or a cape) and the men were wearing dresses? Though some of them had a sash that looked like bathrobes, only more luxurious.</p><p> </p><p>Was this how wizarding folks dressed? She observed, eyes flicking around the space as she briskly made her way to the back room with the brick wall. And she felt very thankful that she was born a female because she would have a hard time adjusting to dresses if she was a boy.</p><p> </p><p>As she reached the wall, she paused. How did the wall open again? She remembered that Petunia saw someone using magic to open it and there was a hole in the wall and it repaired itself. So she has to break the wall with magic?</p><p> </p><p>Just as she was musing how to cause a small explosion without harming herself, an old man stepped up just beside her, eyeing her with disdain. <em>Ah, perhaps she can just use him as a meat shield.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Cheshire growled at the man.</p><p> </p><p>“Tsk,” the man clicked his tongue as he tapped the bricks with a wooden stick, muttering something about mudbloods and infection. She didn’t understand what he was talking about, but at the very least, she knew she was being insulted.</p><p> </p><p>Though, the man’s soul <em>(as she learnt from Mana)</em> was darker and had a little more colour as compared to the residents of Privet Drive. Perhaps it was due to the magic? She mused as she quickly stepped through the archway before Cheshire decides to claw his eyes out.</p><p> </p><p>And Diagon Alley was like a blast of different sensations across her face.</p><p> </p><p>There were so many colours and scents and taste and music that she felt nauseated. It felt simultaneously like walking through a rainbow pathway while stuffing herself full like how Dudley gorged himself with different types of food at. The. Same. Time.</p><p> </p><p>How could anyone endure this? Did they have some special item or spell or whatever it was that blocked them from the sensations?</p><p> </p><p>She really wished she had asked Mana for more information when she was back at Privet Drive. The different voices and music and other noises she can’t distinguish drowned out Mana and it was giving her a headache. What was she here for again?</p><p> </p><p>Right.</p><p> </p><p>The bank.</p><p> </p><p>The white building with a dragon.</p><p> </p><p>She had to get there and ask for something called inheritance test and hopefully she’ll struck gold and become rich enough to live in luxury in her own bubble.</p><p> </p><p>But first, she had to walk. In this… Chaos.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ugh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The bank was quieter, thankfully. There were small, ugly creatures with long ears and sharp fangs and very cool-looking weapons. She just hoped they spoke the same language as her.</p><p> </p><p>Though, she could do without the staring from these creatures. Cheshire shared the same sentiment with how it was hissing at them, fangs-bared.</p><p> </p><p>And she had to repeat her request a second time when the creature behind the teller just gaped at her. Calm. She must be calm. Keeping her face blank, she repeated, “May I have an inheritance test?” Then, she added, for good measure, “I have some money.” She had stolen it from the Dursley’s safe but it didn’t matter when two were dead and one was in perpetual grief. And hopefully she has a house or something under her parents’ name that she could hide out in.</p><p> </p><p>…she might not have thought things through, with how she was banking everything on the inheritance test.</p><p> </p><p>“T-Three drops of blood, on the parchment,” it whispered, somewhat fearfully at her. Was Cheshire really that frightening?</p><p> </p><p>Pricking her finger on Cheshire’s claws, she did as instructed and watched her blood blooming out to form cursive letters.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Solaria Lilith Potter-Black</strong>
</p><p>31 December 1982</p><p>Half-Blood</p><p> </p><p><strong>Birth Parents:</strong> James Potter and Lilith Potter nee Evans</p><p><strong>Blood-Adopted Parent: </strong>Regulus Black (incarcerated)</p><p><strong>Current guardian: </strong>Petunia Dursley nee Evans</p><p> </p><p><strong>Heirships: </strong>The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black</p><p><strong>Vaults:</strong> Black trust vault</p><p> </p><p>And that was it. She had expected something longer, perhaps a list of her abilities or the properties that she might own. But at least, she is nobility(?) and has a vault under her name.</p><p> </p><p>“I will lead you to the Black accounts manager!” The creature grabbed the parchment and ran away.</p><p> </p><p>Seriously, Cheshire wasn’t <em>that</em> scary.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>“I have met my share of insane Blacks and I thought I saw all that there was to the Black family line,” Balmung the goblin (she was told when she asked what they were) stated the moment she entered the office. “Though I have not met one so entrenched with death that you wear it like a perfume.”</p><p> </p><p>Was she being insulted? <em>Again?</em></p><p> </p><p>She remained standing, staring blanky at Balmung. She realised a goblin’s soul was very different from that of a wizard’s. While a wizard’s was more like an egg with wisps of colourful smoke around it, a goblin’s was like those unpolished, rough quartz. Their magic smell like soil after a rain.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” he sighed, waving his hand at the chair, “have a seat.”</p><p> </p><p>Warily, she sat down at the offered chair and Cheshire settled itself on her lap, still watching Balmung as though he was going to attack them.</p><p> </p><p>“And the Black has a protective kneazle half-breed…” He muttered as he placed a thick file in front of her. “Now, this file contains all properties, vaults and artifacts as well as statements for every vaults.”</p><p> </p><p>She had once read a book about accounting, and she returned it to the shelf after three pages. Mentally sighing, while making sure her expression is still blank, she flipped through the file.</p><p> </p><p>And she squealed internally.</p><p> </p><p>Money! She had lots of money, and houses and books and other – apparently cursed – magical items. Even though the family vault had much, much more money, the trust vault was a decently sized number – a seven digit number! Keeping a stoic façade, she said, “I would like to withdraw my money and live at one of these residences.”</p><p> </p><p>“Though most Lords and Heirs use their rings to pay for items,” a black velvet pouch with a raven insignia on it was dumped onto the table, “you are much too young to wear the heirship ring. So this money pouch will suffice. Just wish for the amount of coins you wish to withdraw and it will fly to your hand.”</p><p> </p><p>“Coins?”</p><p> </p><p>“Twenty-nine knuts to a sickle, and seventeen sickles to a galleon.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what about pounds?”</p><p> </p><p>“A galleon is equivalent to five pounds.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Wow</em>, she was also rich in the muggle world. This was too awfully convenient. It must be because she suffered at the hands of the Dursleys for almost 7 years.</p><p> </p><p>“Your godfather, and blood-adopted father, was Lord Black and he lived at 12 Grimmauld Place.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Was?</em>” So something <em>had</em> happened to him. If he has a good enough reason then perhaps she might consider giving him a more lenient punishment on her quest for revenge to those who condemned her to a fate at the Dursleys’.</p><p> </p><p>“He was sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban, the wizard’s equivalent of prison, on 10 of November, 1983.”</p><p> </p><p>That… That was a really good reason.</p><p> </p><p>So he hadn’t abandoned her.</p><p> </p><p>Something warm and tight clutched at her chest.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The building shook as it slide to the side, revealing 12 Grimmauld Place. It was a four-storey building, and the exterior had grey bricks and a black door, like the other flats at Grimmauld Place. However, this door had a very grand lion knocker instead of a doorbell. That affirmed her belief that wizarding folks are very old fashioned.</p><p> </p><p>As she stood on tip-toes, dainty pale fingers wrapped around the handle and <em>slammed</em>.</p><p> </p><p>That ought to be loud enough for anyone inside to hear.</p><p> </p><p>“…dares to…filthy mudbloods…mistress be not happy…” the door swung open to reveal a weird creature the same height as her with long ears and <em>very</em> big eyes like tennis balls. “Who dares – “</p><p> </p><p>It looked directly into her eyes, mouth gaping, whatever it was going to say were cut off. It had been quite a while since someone had the courage to look at her in the eye, with all that eerie pupil-less eyeballs and bright green irises that a normal human shouldn’t have as what Petunia said. Personally, she thought they looked closer to turquoise-green or ice-green (like the sheet of ice on the lake that the Dursley dragged her to – for child labour, of course.).</p><p> </p><p>“Little lady has returned!” It exclaimed as it tried to hug her.</p><p> </p><p>Cheshire finally <em>clawed</em> someone today.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” she said eloquently, “do you know me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course! Little Lady Aria be Master Regulus’s daughter!” The creature, and its name was also Kreacher (she thinks someone might have been lazy naming it), beamed at her.</p><p> </p><p>Uncomfortable with the attention, and especially with the look of happiness and adoration on the old, wrinkly face, she shifted slightly. Cheshire was by her side, licking blood off its claws.</p><p> </p><p>She had been here before, she realised. The magic around the house felt familiar and nostalgic. Even now, it is still curling around her, interacting with Mana. She could hear a lullaby echoing around her.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know what to do, having never interaction with people, much less a weird goblin look-alike. “Um,” she scratched at her neck, “can you tell me more about Regulus and the Black family?”</p><p> </p><p>It launched into a 4 hour long lecture.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p>
  
</p><p>The House of Black was an old pureblood family - wizards and witches who have never mixed with muggle blood - and their family motto was <em>‘Toujours Pur’</em>. Always Pure. And even though she was a half-blood, her mother was a mudblood, Kreacher said, but Master Regulus’s blood wiped away the filthy blood. And the Black Family was prestigious and wealthy and one of the more powerful nobility and she might have zoned out about ten minutes in.</p><p> </p><p>So in a nutshell, she’s pure. And rich.</p><p> </p><p>She had many doubts. And also many questions. One for example was why was the house in such a bad condition if they were such a prestigious family. And second was why did the previous Lord Regulus Black lived in a townhouse if they had a manor? Why was he arrested? Why was she abandoned? Who abandoned her?</p><p> </p><p>Kreacher wailed and beat himself with a nearby candlestick, <em>shame on Kreacher, Kreacher not be preparing the house for Little Lady Aria, </em>the moment the first question left her lips. So house-elves also mutilate themselves when they are upset.</p><p> </p><p>She just hoped the blood wouldn’t stick to the candlestick.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Aria was really, really grateful for house elf magic. Within a night (she had to sleep on a dusty couch but it was better than the cupboard) the house was cleaned and furnished. And apparently Kreacher said she will be sleeping in the Mistress bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>And speaking of <em>‘Mistress’, </em>she found a portrait of someone called Walburga Black with a black ink painted over her lips. Aria asked Kreacher to help her remove the paint and she was granted another adoring, teary-eyed look.</p><p> </p><p>Walburga Black filled her in about the political climate before she was born. Namely mudbloods were filthy and that the Black family is pure and noble and powerful, only mixing within themselves (and look how that turned out, a half-blood heiress and the Lord in prison) and that the Dark Lord reigns supreme. The Death Eaters were the warriors who fight and the Knights of Walpurgis was the inner circle members who are Lords trying to change the Ministry of Magic from within.</p><p> </p><p>When Aria told her about the ‘boy-who-lived’ story she read from Lily Potter’s letters, Walburga got so depressed she shut herself behind the heavy drapes.</p><p> </p><p>From Lily’s letters, she can probably piece together the story. So the Light and the Dark was at war, the Light fighting for the equality of muggleborns (she asked Kreacher if there was a less insulting term for them and he looked like he swallowed a lemon) and the Dark was fighting to retain their culture and the rights of dark creatures, half-humans and the de-stigmatisation of the Dark Arts, Lily Potter mentioned something about the Order so she assumed that’s the faction’s name.</p><p> </p><p>Aria didn’t care much about the different factions, to her having magic itself was a blessing and she was lucky she had magic to protect herself and teaching her. And she learned from Mana that Mana was actually her own magic interacting with the ambient magic around Aria. And Cheshire was a magical cat called a kneazle which were considered mildly dangerous. And apparently she was the darling of the Black Family and she had <em>wizarding relatives</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It was a lot of information to digest.</p><p> </p><p>That was an understatement. It felt as though nothing was real and her whole life had been a lie.</p><p> </p><p>And Kreacher had given her Regulus’s diary and a photobook.</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t find it within her to open it.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>After realising that Mana was actually her magic, and that she had probably dissociated herself from her own magic – giving it a name and calling it a friend – she couldn’t hear the voices anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Her head felt lighter and it was easier to breathe. But the humming was still there, and if she asked ‘Mana’ about something, the information was transmitted directly into her head. It was handy, like having an encyclopaedia within her head.</p><p> </p><p>But still, she felt lonelier than before.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Her bedroom was a slightly larger than average room with a bed by the corner opposite of the entrance. A floor to ceiling window with heavy white drapes took up the entire wall at the head of the bed. The wall was a dark emerald panels and the wardrobe and vanity was by the side of the attached bathroom. A black chandelier added an elegant flair to the room. The floor was a dark walnut with a grey-blue carpet under the bed.</p><p> </p><p>It was smaller than expected considering it was the mistress bedroom, but then again, it was a townhouse. The room had enough light and fresh air for it to be airy and well-lit without being overly harsh. She thinks magic was involved. The room was still cosy enough and she spent most of her time with Cheshire in there, occasionally going to the dining room when Kreacher fussed over her.</p><p> </p><p>And for the next few days as Kreacher cleaned and cooked and bought some wizarding clothes (they look like formal gowns without the puffy skirts) for her, she spent her time cooped up in the room.</p><p> </p><p>Until Cheshire got fed up with being indoors and knocked the photobook open.</p><p> </p><p>And there were pictures of a baby her and a handsome man with shoulder-length black hair. Steel-grey eyes which were supposed to look cold and stern were instead warm and fond as the man looked at baby her.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know how to feel.</p><p> </p><p>In fact, she didn’t understand anything anymore.</p><p> </p><p>She just wanted to sleep and hope things will make sense when she wakes up.</p><p> </p><p>She escaped from the Dursleys, but then, what’s next? Kreacher said something about Hogwarts and she will receive a letter when she’s eleven. But that’s 3 years away from now.</p><p> </p><p>What was she to do with 3 years?</p><p> </p><p>She closed the photobook when it got too much.</p><p>It was comparatively lonelier than living with the Dursleys. Over there, she didn’t have time to think, always trying to finish her chores on time or when the pain got too much and she passed out.</p><p> </p><p>Without Mana, it was lonely, even though she knew that Mana never left her and it was still inside her, with her. And she had Cheshire. And Kreacher.</p><p> </p><p>But still.</p><p> </p><p>She wrapped the duvet tighter, closing her eyes and trying to go back to sleep. The diary left untouched on the desk.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Cheshire refused to talk to her until she read the journal and disappeared somewhere else.</p><p> </p><p>The house never felt so empty.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>After a week of Cheshire’s silence, Aria gave up and huffed. “Alright, I’ll read the stupid diary.”</p><p> </p><p>“Meow,” the proudful thing purred with a smug expression.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The first few portions were bland and uninteresting, mainly about politics and how Regulus planned with the Dark Lord to change the Ministry from within. She also learned that House of Black was called ‘Black’ because they used to practise Black magic and now it was considered taboo even though some light spells cause the same effects as some dark spells.</p><p> </p><p>It was when she got to the dates closer to her birth that she found herself tensing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>9 November 1982</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Sirius had approached me about being the Light’s spy. I do wonder if being with the Light has lowered his intelligence or perceptiveness. My loyalty stands with the Dark Lord and only the Dark Lord. Regardless, he was talking about letting me name the Potters’ new member and they had expressed their wishes for me to be the child’s godfather. I have no idea what the Light is planning now. Was this a bribe or an attempt to guilt trip me? </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>10 November 1982</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I had consulted with my Lord and he told me to spy on the Light for him. Severus had informed him that Dumbledore was getting suspicious of him and my brother was doubting his loyalty – quite loudly – at every order meetings. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>31 December 1982</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I had the honour of naming the child. She was so small in my hands and looked so fragile. ‘Solaria’ was her name. And like her name, I hope that she will be a bright and cheerful girl. There were some complications when she was born; her eyes were firmly closed. When the mediwitch said Solaria might be blind, the Potters’ face blanched. My heart ached at the thought of my goddaughter being disabled. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>(she gripped the diary tighter, wrinkling the pages)</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>5 January 1983</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I have been to the Potters several times in the past few days, it’s like I am almost living there with them. Kreacher was unhappy whenever I came home late but I couldn’t help myself. She is so small and adorable. It was surprising that I had gotten attached to her so quickly. However, I have noticed that both Lily and James were distant to Solaria. I have brought it up to Sirius but it ended up in another argument. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>10 January 1983</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>A house elf! A bloody house elf was raising Solaria. Perhaps ‘raising’ was an overstatement. The house elf only fed and washed her. What were the Potters thinking? Leaving an infant to the hands of a house elf? They may be useful but they do not understand human infants the same way we do. It pains me to think of how lonely she might have been, laying in her crib all day without anyone by her side.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>11 January 1983</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I have started to call her my little sun, or Aria whenever I went to the Potters. And the way she giggled in response was adorable. But she was not as energetic as other infants were, and her eyes were still closed. I am worrying myself sick to the point Marvolo had pointed out I am getting grey hair – I am only 21! Was this how parents felt?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I am considering bringing her to Grimmauld Place to look after her properly. However, this place isn’t a good environment to raise a child. It was too gloomy and dark. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>12 January 1983</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>The Potters were reluctant to give Aria to me, it was understandable as they are her birth parents. I would have conceded had they not mention ‘it would be terrible for a Death Eater to raise our child’.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Clearly, they didn’t care for her and I had to pull rank over James Potter to get custody of Aria. His mother might’ve been a Black, but I am the current Lord. For Aria, I will make sure that she left that place.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>17 January 1983</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Having granted custody of Aria (I had to pull a few strings and perhaps asked Marvolo for help), we went to Gringotts to set up an account for her and also, I would like her to become my child not just in name and magic, but also in blood.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Her face scrunched up as they fed the blood adoption potion to her and Marvolo – the stone-faced Dark Lord – cracked a smile! She is truly living up to her namesake, brightening everyone’s mood.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I do wish that Aria could freely access the main Black vault when she is older so I do not need to worry that she wouldn’t have enough. However the vault requires either a Lordship or an heirship ring to enter. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>When she turns 11, I would give her the heirship ring. For now, I am just happy that she is here living with me. I didn’t think being a parent would be so stressful yet fulfilling.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>13 February 1983</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Aria has been living with us for about a month. When I first brought her back to Grimmauld Place with Marvolo, I was afraid the dark magic would cause some discomfort to her as both the Potters were light.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>However, the wards and the Black family magic had welcomed her enthusiastically, curling around her. Marvolo and I casted a simple diagnostic charm to check her core, but the spell couldn’t get a clear read on her.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Marvolo said he felt magic – as cold as ice – from her, assuring me that she wasn’t a squib. I was prepared to remove someone’s magic and transfer it to Aria, so it was a relief when Marvolo told me that. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Marvolo had also been dropping by multiple times, Cissy and Bella would tag along to see the newest addition to the Black family. We had drifted apart these past few years and I am glad that Aria brought everyone together, even indirectly.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Cissy had declared herself the maternal figure in Aria’s life and had been smothering her with attention and gifts. It was amusing to see Aria not responding whenever Cissy tried to capture her attention with a toy.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Instead, Aria seemed to gravitate towards Marvolo more than Cissy. He had stated it might be due to his magic, but when I pointed out that Aria may like him, the baffled expression was too amusing!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Sometimes, I would catch him humming soft tunes and smiling gently to her. It seems that Aria had not only captured Cissy’s and Kreacher’s heart, but also the terrifying Dark Lord. I do hope that she won’t attract too many men, the betrothal contracts would cause me too much headache.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>1 March 1983</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Aria opened her eyes! </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>After almost two months since her birth. She was able to react accordingly when I presented toys to her. I am thankful that she was not blind, however the lack of pupils in her eyes worries me. They were said to be a physical indication of a soul seer, and that might attract danger to her.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I do hope the Black family name and magic would be able to protect her. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>19 October 1983</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>There have been talks of a traitor within our ranks. However, no matter how much I probed Dumbledore or Sirius, they would not give me a straight answer. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I used to devote my whole life and future to Marvolo. However, now that Solaria is in my life, I find myself loving her the way my parents never did. I am at a standstill. I still intent to serve my Lord until my death, however I am as devoted to Aria and by virtue, her safety.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I wonder if Cissy or Marvolo would take her in if I am incapacitated in any ways.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A hastily scribbled letter was within his journal. It was a will, she realised, as she read through the note. She was supposed to go to a ‘Cissy’ or the Dark Lord, and yet, yet she ended up on the doorsteps of Privet Drive.</p><p> </p><p>Kreacher said she disappeared the moment Regulus was arrested.</p><p> </p><p>If none of them brought her there, then who left her at the Dursleys?</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Why now?</p><p> </p><p>When she had just decided to not feel -</p><p> </p><p>To give up all hopes for a family -</p><p> </p><p>To continue living in this empty house with a cat and a house elf for company.</p><p> </p><p>Why, why, <em>why</em>?</p><p> </p><p>She was loved. Someone had fought for her, had wanted her to be in his life so badly he fought her birth parents for custody.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She was in the pictures. All the pictures in the photobook had her in it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Regulus loved her.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>And wasn’t that everything she wished for? To be loved, to be wanted and to be someone’s precious person. To have someone who would protect her from the harsh punishments of the Dursleys, to have someone lavish attention and affection on her like Petunia did with Dudley.</p><p> </p><p>And there were others who cared for her, Cissy and even the notorious Dark Lord!</p><p> </p><p><em>They loved her, </em>she realised.</p><p> </p><p>Just when she had –</p><p> </p><p>And if they had loved her so deeply, why did her heart ache so much? Why was she crying herself hoarse? Why was she clutching the diary like it’s her anchor?</p><p> </p><p>To be loved should make one happy, right?</p><p> </p><p>So why did her heart feel so painful?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>uh well. I hope you enjoyed it! Remember to kudos and comment to let me know what are your thoughts about this story! All mistakes are my own, it's not yet edited.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. narcissus blooms after harsh frost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Petunia wilts, and Narcissus blooms.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>A lullaby half-forgotten hummed softly in the distance, evoking unfamiliar, yet nostalgic, emotions. Safe and comforting. Tenderness from large hands cradled her to a solid chest – the rhythmic thrumming of his heart soothing her. Soft giggles fell off her lips as a dark-haired, grey-eyed woman conjured little animals that left wispy smoke in their tracks as they marched around her. By her side, a light-haired woman, features similar to the other, cooed softly. Warm eyes. Gentle smiles. They showered her with affection, even the aloof, red-eyed man allowed his magic to twine around her, lulling gently.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Grey fur obscured her vision as she woke, cheeks wet from a distant memory she barely remembered. Soft humming enveloped her in a warm embrace, wicking her tears away. <em>Mana, </em>she realised. Her magic with its own individuality whirred, sending waves of concern into her head. With that, the unease she previously felt melted away into easy acceptance, and Aria basked in the warmth of <em><strike>Mana</strike> <strong>her</strong> </em>magic.</p><p> </p><p>Aria gently pushed Cheshire down onto her lap, sitting up, as the soft pop of Kreacher entering her room accompanied by breakfast entered her sight. Pancakes and milk tea. Her favourites. Gratitude swelled within her; not just for the breakfast but also the silent companionship they provided after last night.</p><p> </p><p>“What time is it?” Aria asked Kreacher as she took a sip of her tea.</p><p> </p><p>“It be 2pm,” Kreacher replied dutifully. Then, a stern expression Aria saw for the very first time she stepped foot into Grimmauld Place graced his wrinkly features, “Little Lady Aria must be eating more food.”</p><p> </p><p>Her lips twitched into a soft smile.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Aria was used to pain. Insults. Hand-me-downs for clothes.</p><p> </p><p>For the majority of her life, those were all she received. Hence, when Kreacher presented her with frilly dresses and jewelled ribbons, conflict stirred within her. Though her wardrobe was filled with luxurious clothing, Dudley’s old sweater still hung on her skinny shoulders. It was <em>familiar</em>. Familiar in a way that she was used to it. Used to old clothes that didn’t fit her.</p><p> </p><p>Aria felt that if she dressed in those clothes, the trauma she suffered at the hands of the Dursleys were for naught. Dismissed and ignored like the girl in the cupboard. And perhaps a part of her had never left the cupboard, still cowering in fear and indignant anger.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t want to dismiss what she went through. She wanted to leave the cupboard, the Dursleys, Privet Drive. And wasn’t that the reason she had cursed Vernon? That she had ran away with nothing but the clothes on her back, some money and her cat to the Wizarding World. A world she rushed headfirst into with no plan or preparation.</p><p> </p><p>Aria had fought against two of her demons and <em>won</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She wanted to acknowledge that.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>She softly hummed along to the tune of her magic, the tailored cashmere sweater and wool leggings felt soft against her skin. Kreacher compromised with a woeful look and owl-ordered custom-made, muggle-styled clothes for her. Her attire was still similar to that of her times at the Dursleys. But it was hers.</p><p> </p><p>The familiarity from the past and the unfamiliarity of clothes made from magical animals felt like a chapter closed. Iron shackles forged into gold bracelet. A reminder of what she went through and also the knowledge that she overcame it. That she is moving forward.</p><p> </p><p>As fingernails tapped against the polished dining table, Aria mused on her next course of action. Three years before her Hogwarts letter arrives. Three years of unrestrained freedom. Three years of loneliness. She needed a distraction, hopefully multiple distractions, from the melancholy. Back then, she had hid in the school’s –</p><p> </p><p>Wait.</p><p> </p><p>This house was owned by purebloods.</p><p> </p><p>Very wealthy pureblood <em>wizards.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Kreacher, is there a library here?”</p><p> </p><p>Horror crossed his face, and frantically, he exclaimed, “the Black library be too dangerous for Little Lady Aria!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dangerous equals excitement, did it not? Fortune favours the bold and all that.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps there were traps, or something that would cause her skin to wilt and wither like flowers in autumn. Or perhaps it would freeze the blood in her veins and turn her into an ice statue. All three were not favourable outcomes, but there is a very convenient house-elf to act as her knightin shining armour.</p><p> </p><p>Aria cutely tilted her head at Kreacher, and beamed, “then you’ll protect me, <em>right</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Both Kreacher and Cheshire stared incredulously at her.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The Black Library, as it turned out, was termed as such due to the diversity of illegal books on dark and black magic. If one without the Black’s pure blood flowing through their veins touches the books, they will die a painful death, as stated by the portrait of an old man <em>(“It’s Phineas Nigellus Black!”),</em> though he didn’t mention how they died.</p><p> </p><p>Wasn’t Aria <em>extremely</em> fortunate to have Regulus’s blood coursing through her veins?</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Kreacher. You may go now.”  </p><p> </p><p>With that, she ran deep into the library, eyes gleaming with excitement as she skimmed through the books, ignoring the blossoming pride at the portrait’s scoff of <em>‘just like Regulus’</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Chessy, there’s so many interesting books here!” She whispered in amazement, “which book should we read first?” The feline’s tail swished back and forth until it settled, pointing to an unnamed book bound in a yellowed cover. As her fingertips grazed the cover, she froze.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>As expected of the Blacks. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She grinned, flipping it open. Both the cover and parchment were made from human skin, her magic told her, a material essential to containing black magic. Excited, she made herself comfortable on the carpet nearby. Her pet by her side, its intelligent eyes scanning over the pages like usual, she started to read up about Black magic written by the grandfather of the old man’s portrait.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>…Black magic was originally termed as such as us Blacks have used it for centuries, hence it was synonymous with our family. However,  I am certain my ancestors did not invent such form of magic; they merely gave it a name and hence called the ‘Black Family’ by others as they were frequent users of it.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>But I digress. All magic requires some form of equivalent exchange from our core and the environment, be it from the ambient magic in our vicinity, incantations or emotions. The difference in black magic, however, lies in the sacrifice of others; flesh, magic or souls. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>To take and greedily devour, giving none back. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Magic sees no colour. The morality of black magic was decided by humanity and dark magic was hence simplified from Black magic itself. The killing curse, for example, was a humane variation of black magic; painlessly severing the victim’s soul from their flesh and allowing the soul to enter the afterlife. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The soul fuels our magical cores, hence to take away one’s magic is equivalent to taking away their life and if one were to just take the soul, the body becomes a husk, slowly withering away. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Black magic was largely categorised into three domains. The first domain, blood magic, involves the manipulation of a victim’s lifeblood. ( It must be noted that if blood was given willingly or not, the flow of magic would change as both intents are different.) It is also a good conductor for magic as magic is passed down bloodline. Other uses include transfiguring into weapons, divination or causing bodily harm from afar.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The second domain, life magic, involves creating artificial lifeforms and implanting a soul within. Many might assume that Life magic falls under light magic, however, in the context of Black magic, we are infusing souls into our creation, which is an anomaly of the world. However, I have yet to discover a way to artificially create souls, hence all my experiments failed. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The last domain, Necromancy, is further subcategorised into soul magic and death magic. Soul magic involves separation, purification, and transference. To separate a soul from the body, cleansing all traces of the owner’s magical signature and repairing or purifying the fractured magical core and transfer it into a vessel or object. Death magic involves the manipulation of the dead, using corpses as puppets or summoning souls from the afterlife for divination.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In my experiments, I have found that by consuming a magical core boosts one’s latent magic. Our magic would predate upon the victim’s blank core and in theory, if one wizard were to consume the cores of a hundred wizards, that wizard’s magical core would be equivalent to a hundred.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>There is a method to the madness – to benefit ourselves at the expense of others – that is the House of Black’s magic. Of course, there are other usage of necromancy, but my research on page…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Hm.</p><p> </p><p>Due to black magic’s preference of using lifeforms instead of ambient magic, it was considered taboo and banned among magical communities. Aria scoffed. <em>How foolish. </em>Can’t they see that by imposing limitations, they have lost access to one of the most powerful forms of magic?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And the consumption of one’s soul…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Intrigued, she flipped to that section and immediately laughed. How <em>fortunate</em> of her that this ritual works on squibs as well. Her ancestor used the outcasts of society, bastards and squibs of multiple bloodlines, for his experiments.</p><p> </p><p>Her dearest aunt deserves a poetic justice.  After all, how could Aria leave her out when Vernon got his share of the meal?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(and this time, she will consume her demon.)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>A month.</p><p> </p><p>The preparation took a full month.</p><p> </p><p>The instructions seemed fairly simple (it felt like the repeat of the centipede at the Dursleys’). First, she had to purify her body by adding apples to her bath, then do a magical cleansing to remove lingering ambient magic, and finally, preparing a mixture of white narcissus, hyacinth and anemone flowers – all three signifying the transference of self (soul) from the dying victim to the castor – to absorb the victim’s blood.</p><p> </p><p>Petunia must be fed Aria’s blood for the core to recognise Aria as its new host, hence purifying it, and runes signifying separation and transference must be branded lest the core is contaminated by her aunt’s blood. And all this must be done during a moonless night, which was tomorrow.</p><p> </p><p>Luck must <em>truly</em> be on her side.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Number 4 Privet Drive was the same as when she left. White picket fence and green lawn. Aria wasn’t surprised; her aunt liked to keep up appearances even though her despair must be eating her up. Seafoam eyes scanned around the neighbourhood cloaked in darkness, relishing the silence. The Witching Hour might just be her favourite. Everyone’s asleep as she prowls in search of prey.</p><p> </p><p>And the prey was locked within the cage she set. Again, house elf magic was extremely convenient, as well as having an elf with morals as dark as hers; a snap of its spindly fingers had the house surrounded with a blue bubble, glowing faintly. <em>A silencing ward</em>, Kreacher said.</p><p> </p><p>Black hood obscured her features as Aria ambled through the hallway, grimacing in distaste at the framed family photographs. The young witch’s familiar prowled by her side, dark green eyes staring at the cupboard; its former home. Kreacher was a weird addition to the aesthetic, with his wrinkly face and long ears. Though, Aria assumed he could be the witch’s minion.</p><p> </p><p>At the entrance to the living room, Aria paused. Seven years of living in this house and the first time she steps foot into the room was also the night she’s sacrificing Petunia. Conflicting emotions whirled, her magic buzzed in agitation, spreading frost under her feet. <em>Calm</em>. She must stay calm. Aria took a deep breath, the chilly air cooling her anger as she surveyed her surroundings – it was big enough for the ritual circle to be drawn, and the fireplace was conveniently to her side as she carefully placed the rune brand into the ashes.</p><p> </p><p>“Kreacher, vanish everything in here and light the fireplace, please,” she ordered absently as she made her way to her aunt’s room, wilfully ignoring the cupboard. Today. Today, she will defeat all her demons and remove every trace of it from Earth. Then, she will be <em>(feel)</em> safe and free to roam however she pleases. Be it from living in Grimmauld Place or travelling overseas with Cheshire, no one can stop her.</p><p> </p><p>After all, who would search for an orphan?</p><p> </p><p>The Potters abandoned her. ‘Cissy’ and ‘Marvolo’ didn’t come for her. She was as good as dead to them, and vice versa. And she will get her revenge on them in the future as well. When she is older, more powerful. That’s the whole point of this ritual. She will win. She will kill and eat all her demons and she will be free. She will not allow herself to be controlled.</p><p> </p><p>Petunia was always a heavy sleeper, one has to be with all the snoring Vernon did. So, when she opened the door and made her way to the bed, Petunia didn’t wake; instead snoring, oblivious to her fate. Snow-white hair falling over the side of her face as her head tilted, watching Petunia sleep peacefully.</p><p> </p><p>That won’t do.</p><p> </p><p>Focusing on the humming within her, she willed her magic to levitate her aunt. With the easy acceptance from last month, all she needed was <em>want</em> for something and her magic would obey like an eager puppy. The strain on her body was worth it, she chanted, as she carefully manoeuvred Petunia down the stairs and into the now-empty living room. She was still asleep. Cheshire sat outside the entrance with Kreacher by its side, both watching her intently as Aria set her aunt down on the circle. The corners of her lips twitched; she didn’t know she had an audience.</p><p> </p><p>Kneeling down, round, glowing seafoam eyes pierced through the darkness, raptly watching her aunt’s peaceful face, as if she was memorising her victim’s features. How strange. Petunia’s terrifying presence had always loomed over her. Now, her aunt felt so fragile, so insignificant, and instead of the demon in Aria’s memories, Petunia was akin to the insects eaten by the centipede.</p><p> </p><p>When her prey slept throughout the process of Aria <em>manually </em>slicing her pyjamas open, tossing it out of the room, disappointment welled within her. <em>How droll.</em> Standing above Petunia with fingers clenched tightly around the handle, aligning the brand vertically against her chest, she took a final look at her aunt’s face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Byebye auntie.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And Petunia screamed.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Petunia flailed against the magical bindings, choking as Aria forced her blood down her throat, small hands covering her lips and nose. After she ensured her aunt had ingested her blood, she stood back, face blanked. There was no thrill buzzing through her veins, nor was there heart-thumping anxiety like Vernon’s murder. Just a faint interest as the ritual started, waves of rich, dense magic enveloped her.</p><p> </p><p>Ignoring the strain, she willed her magic to cover the floor with white anemones, hyacinths and narcissuses instantly after her aunt slowly rose towards the ceiling, limps drooping as she hovered mid-air. Slightly panting at the magical pressure, her shoulders shook as she incanted.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Separare.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A hymn echoed around the room, ancient and old, signalled the start. Mustering her strength, she lifted her head, a small gasp escaping and her eyes widened. It was morbidly fascinating. Petunia’s chest split open along the glowing runes, revealing her ribcage enclosing the heart, lungs, and the core, ironically a deep green – just like Lily’s eyes. A mother giving her child magic’s blessing. Petunia’s ribcage bloomed open, like a white spider lily tainted with scarlet, the core floating upwards from Petunia’s still-alive, wriggling body. Blood gushed like a grotesque fountain down onto the flowers, twirling into a deep red – it was time for the next step.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Purificare.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Now, as the volume of the hymn intensified, she heard a language she didn’t understand, and her magic started intermingling with the burgundy tendrils from the flowers; the ritual magic resonant and cloying, her chest heaving as she shook her head at Kreacher’s concerned cry. Tendrils touched the core and vivid red blossomed. Red like the flowers under her bare feet. Red like Petunia’s blood. Red like the eyes of the man she dreamt of.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Transferre,”</em> Aria whispered, eyes fixed on the orb as it pressed against her lips, demanding entrance. Lashes fluttered shut and she <em>swallowed</em>.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Her magic surrounded the core, freezing and disintegrating it as Aria slumped against the door, observing Kreacher as he gathered the bloody flowers into a bottomless box. As conductors of magic, the flowers still had its uses. How and for what purpose, she doesn’t know but hopefully she’ll figure it out in the future once she fully recovers. Strength flowed back into her as her magic finished digesting its meal.</p><p> </p><p>And when she stepped out into the street, she didn’t turn back when the house burst into flames.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She’s finally free.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Narcissa met Kreacher entirely by coincidence.</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t find it in her to deny Aries’s request for macarons from <em>Sparkling Sprinkles</em>. She devoted too much of her time to managing Witch Weekly and preparing Draco for Hogwarts to spend some quality time with her second son. The son who wrenched her heart every time she looked at him, reminding her of the child who disappeared seven years ago.</p><p> </p><p>Seven years ago, her Lord fell and shortly after, Aria disappeared. Regulus and Bella were thrown into Azkaban. Andromeda was following the wishes of the Light’s leader. All that’s left were Lucius and her boys. Lost in her melancholy, she almost missed the familiar face. A face she hasn’t seen in seven years, since –</p><p> </p><p>“Kreacher.”</p><p> </p><p>Large eyes peered at her as she indicated him to follow her into a side alley obscured by shadows. Flicking a privacy ward around them, she coolly asked, “what are you doing outside of Grimmauld Place?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kreacher be buying Little Lady Aria’s favourite macarons,” lifting the package excitedly to show his point. The elf was rambling about how he only served the finest to his little lady but all Narcissa could processed was, “Aria? As in Solaria Potter-Black?” her voice raising slightly, “the child – <em>my daughter</em> – that Regulus adopted?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes! Little Lady Aria returned!”</p><p> </p><p>In her shock, she didn’t remember the journey back to Malfoy Manor.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The next day found her darkening the doorsteps of 12 Grimmauld Place, waiting to be received. It wasn’t Kreacher who opened the door, but rather a small child (smaller than Aries, smaller than any 8-year-old should be) with pure white hair falling in waves to her waist and pupil-less, icy seafoam eyes. Eyes that she had missed for seven years.</p><p> </p><p>Her daughter had grown into a beautiful young lady, and yet, haunted eyes and gaunt face painfully clenched her heart. She doesn’t remember eyes that cold (they were always warm in her memories) and she doesn’t remember this version of Grimmauld Place – clean and furnished with expensive new furniture – when Kreacher apparated into the doorway and invited her in.</p><p> </p><p>Tense silence blanketed the trio as they walked towards the living room. All her pureblood training didn’t prepare her for a situation where her missing daughter, who was also the Heiress to House Black and Narcissa’s imprisoned cousin’s daughter, appeared after seven years; with a malnourished frame and jaded eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Narcissa <em>really</em> didn’t want to believe it; having partially raised her, proclaiming to Regulus that Solaria was now her daughter the instance she laid eyes on the little bundle of joy. Pale features flushed with shame. She should have rushed to Grimmauld Place the moment Regulus was arrested, she should have insisted to Regulus to stay at Malfoy manor, she should have been with her, she should have –</p><p> </p><p>The clinking of teacups startled her, lost in her guilt, she hadn’t realised they had been seated and served. Seated face to face with Solaria, Narcissa observed the girl intently; she was too skinny, too small, to be healthy. Where she had round, chubby cheeks the last Narcissa remembered of her, now sharp cheekbones and pointed chin defined her features. A sweater-dress that looked a little loose hung on her shoulders – muggle fashion, she noted.</p><p> </p><p>The most telling thing was Aria’s body language.</p><p> </p><p>Shoulders tensing at every slight movement Narcissa makes, eyes never leaving her form. A malnourished body. Silent as if she was afraid to speak or did not know she was allowed to talk. Following Narcissa into the room instead of leading. The signs were all there – having seen her fair share of abused muggleborns during her healer’s apprenticeship. And yet, Narcissa didn’t want to believe it, didn’t dare to ask, to know the truth. But she had to. If not for herself, then for Regulus. And Solaria.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me,” Narcissa choked out, breaking the tense silence without even introducing herself to Aria, “were you happy for the past seven years?”</p><p> </p><p>Eyes flicked up to hers, temporarily locking blue and green (both frosty and yet, the child’s – <em>her child’s</em> -  eyes were like frozen flames; fierce anger simmering behind the ice). It solidified her hypothesis. The room spun as her vision blurred, jaw clenched as muted horror and guilt gnawed away at her soul.</p><p> </p><p>“I was worried about you,” voice raw with unbridled emotions, “I was always thinking about you for the past seven years.” It was an understatement, never did a day went by that Narcissa didn’t think of Aria, constantly worried, constantly searching. Narcissa could identify the moment Aria processed what was said, starting to tremble, eyes wide with denial and softly, she whispered out, “no.” Skinny arms tightly clutched at her shoulders, as if to protect her from the revelation that someone had cared, that she couldn’t believe she was loved.</p><p> </p><p>“I speak the truth.” White robes pooling around her heels as she slowly rose, “you were always on my mind. Every day, I would wonder if you were happy.” She cautiously inched closer. “During the summers, I fear your milky white skin will be burnt by the harsh sun, and I longed to hear your soft laughter as you play with fresh blossoms when spring arrives.” Gingerly, she sat beside Aria, hands reaching out to touch her; she had to know it was real, that it wasn’t a dream, that her daughter was there, right in front of her.</p><p> </p><p>“I had hoped that your caretakers spoiled you with presents I couldn’t send, and showered you with love I wish I could show,” she wept, heart breaking even further when all Aria did was shook her head frantically, wheezing, <em>‘lies!’</em> – voice soft from years of misuse or forced silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Lieslieslies,” she hissed through the tears, the anger, the betrayal, “you lie! If you were so worried about me you should’ve searched for me, you should have taken me away, you should have been there, but you weren’t!” Eyes fiercely glowing as she growled, repressed emotions finally pouring out, “I had to save myself, no one was there to rescue me, no one was there to help me, <em>you abandoned me</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Aria panted after her tirade. She wanted to <em>leave</em>, but Narcissa spurred into action at the sudden tenseness, arms tightly wrapping around the small figure, her own taller and healthier body easily overpowering the weak struggles. Aria felt trapped, as if she was caged again, as if she was back at the Dursleys;, their shadows looming over her and suffocated her. She tried to turn around <em>(runrunrun - run away) </em>but the lady’s arms tightened, pulling Aria into her lap, pressing her chest tightly against hers.</p><p> </p><p>Breathing slowly, setting the pace to calm the hyperventilating child, Narcissa’s hand softly threaded through Aria’s locks, untangling the knots she felt. Minutes passed before she felt the child’s beathing gradually returned to normal, softly sniffing into her robes.</p><p> </p><p>“Where were you when I needed someone to take me away,” anguish and resignment laced her words, voice muffled by the lady’s expensive clothes. Narcissa was fortunate she held the child tightly for she heard a faint whisper of, “to save me.” With that, the dam broke, gushing like a tsunami against her psyche. Tears freely falling, smudging her makeup, Narcissa cried as she pressed her cheek against Aria’s head. “I’m so sorry – I’m so terribly sorry,” Narcissa cradled her – and she felt <em>bones</em> instead of soft flesh – in her lap, hand on her head and an arm across her back. “I tried,” her voice was softer now, with an undertone of weariness, “I tried searching for you when you vanished. I searched all over magical Britain and used every contacts I had to search for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t believe you,” Aria whispered, head buried in the crook of Narcissa’s neck and small hands fisting her robes. Her words denied Narcissa’s efforts, yet she clung tightly onto her, as though she was afraid of losing Narcissa, of losing the mother she never had.</p><p> </p><p>“Then I will prove it to you,” voice fierce and determined, “no matter how long it’ll take, that I had loved, and will love, you dearly.”</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The lady introduced herself as <em>‘Narcissa – call me Cissy – Malfoy’, </em>apparent godmother (self-proclaimed) of Aria. The same <em>‘Cissy’</em> she read about in Regulus’s journal. For days in a row, Narcissa would turn up at Grimmauld Place using teatime as an excuse as she bribed her with pretty dresses, confectionaries and dolls. All of which were not suited to her taste, so when Narcissa showed up at her doorstep again, she slammed the door in her face with magic.</p><p> </p><p>And Narcissa <em>burst</em> through with a loud explosion, smiling calmly at her wide eyes and gracefully stepping over the debris, as though she didn’t destroy Aria’s door.</p><p> </p><p>The next time, she hid in her room. Granted reprieve for only a few minutes, Kreacher (the traitor) popped Narcissa into her room. Then, Aria thought throwing a tantrum would scare the woman off. But Narcissa handled it with the grace of having raised two sons. After weeks – she lost count – of playing hide-and-seek, she conceded and returned to her daily routine; reading in the Black Library as Narcissa filled the silence with chatter and the occasional <em>“oh that book has the same information as the one you’ve read yesterday.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>From magical education to politics, the lady was knowledgeable about a variety of topics. Aria was sure some of the gossips Narcissa told her about the other Ladies would cause a riot in high society if it was leaked out because they were too scandalous. Still, Aria silently listened, eyes fixed on the book rested in her lap but never reading it. <em>For future blackmail</em>, she insisted to Cheshire who merely purred at her knowingly.</p><p> </p><p>Tactfully, Narcissa didn’t mention her own family, only knowing from secondary information that she had two sons and a husband. There was an unspoken rule between them that Aria will read and study Regulus’s old school books while Narcissa filled the silence chatting, playing the piano or humming a nostalgic lullaby.</p><p> </p><p>The noise should have annoyed her, but she was used to all the humming and soft music. Oddly, whenever the Malfoy Matriarch visits, arriving at noon sharp and leaving in the evening, Aria felt less lonely (and the house wasn’t as empty as before).</p><p> </p><p>Aside from Narcissa’s first visit and the tantrum Aria threw, she stubbornly refused to speak. Regardless, Narcissa was still persistent, bringing gifts now carefully tailored to her tastes. Books and dolls, jewellery and clothes. Narcissa took a look at her wardrobe, immediately burning the gaudy dresses Kreacher bought, and would smile when Aria wears a dress or accessory she bought, or eats the sweets absentmindedly from Narcissa’s hand while she was reading.</p><p> </p><p>Having a maternal figure in her life had warmth blossoming in her, rosy blush blooming across her cheeks as Narcissa forced her to drink the concoctions (nutrient, general healing and growth potions) a trusted friend (potions master) had made. She read up more about potions after that incident.</p><p> </p><p>Narcissa even bought cat beds made from baby unicorns’ fur and ribbons made from acromantula silk for Cheshire; all of which were high-end and very expensive. The traitor had warmed up to Narcissa almost instantly and preens whenever she brushes her fur.</p><p> </p><p>Though Aria thinks her favourite might be the books Narcissa would bring from the Malfoy library. Banned books on the Dark Arts; all of which were not child-friendly – the Blacks were quite blasé on children reading about the Dark Arts. Narcissa extended an open invitation to Aria, stating she can visit Malfoy Manor whenever she pleases as it is also her house.</p><p> </p><p>The first, proper conversation they had was when Narcissa mentioned Cheshire might be able to perform magic.</p><p> </p><p>At Aria’s furrowed brow and soft frown, Narcissa explained, “though kneazles are magical beasts, they lack a core of their own, and the classification of XXX class animals originated from their protective nature, given that they are not cross-bred with another magical beast.”</p><p> </p><p>“She is a ragdoll mix.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not very dangerous then, if it’s a muggle animal,” Narcissa ignored the indignant meow, “however, I sense magic from Cheshire. Most magical animals may be affected by a wizard’s or witch’s magic, their features changing slightly, but even familiars are not able to access our magical cores, serving as close companions instead.” Narcissa peered thoughtfully at Cheshire, before asking, “how long was she with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Since I was three, she followed me to the house.” The ‘and lived in the cupboard with me’ was left unsaid.</p><p> </p><p>Kreacher had gloated about Aria’s revenge on her relatives as if he had committed the acts himself, and Narcissa was both outraged and proud. Furious that muggles <em>(they’re not even muggles, they’re filth, worse than humans!)</em> had abused her and proud that Aria killed them all <em>(“did you ensure that they died a painful death at least?” Aria nodded).</em></p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps your magic gifted Cheshire some abilities,” Narcissa mused. “You mentioned that you can understand her without words, yes?” Aria nodded. “It is rare, but mutations do happen when magical animals spend a long time in the presence of strong wizards or witches.”</p><p> </p><p>Curious, Aria turned to Cheshire and asked, “what magic can you use?”</p><p> </p><p>She received a confused meow in return.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Narcissa’s magic was a dark shade of violet, swirling around Aria protectively, and it tasted of frozen cranberries. It reflected her personality, with her elegance and how cold Narcissa was when she spoke about muggleborns and those she didn’t like, but soothing and protective with Aria. She insisted to herself that it was due to the magic she fell asleep in Narcissa’s lap, curling around her. It was definitely the magic, she blushed, ignoring Narcissa when a knowing smile graced her lips.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Christmas (or Yule as it was called here) was associated to envy and sorrow as Dudley tore open the presents Aria was forced to wrap, throwing a tantrum with presents he disliked. <em>They are dead, </em>she reminded herself. And aside from Cheshire who proudly plopped a pretty rock into her lap and Kreacher whipping up Yule-themed dishes, Aria didn’t know anyone else she could share the joy of Yule with, (and who knew giving house-elves clothes meant that you are throwing them out of the family). He tearfully ate the macarons she shared.</p><p> </p><p><em>But you have Narcissa now</em>, a traitorous part of her mind whispered. But aside from the Cheshire-can-use-magic incident, Aria never had a conversation with her so sending something would be awkward as she had always ignored her, and Aria was afraid that things might change between them.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, she hesitated.</p><p> </p><p>Turning away from the burning Yule log, Aria went in search of a transfiguration book.</p><p> </p><p>(she was afraid of losing Cissy again)</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Come Yule, Narcissa had spent the night with her family, unwrapping presents sent to them, gifts from the usual Nobles trying to curry favour with her were discarded to the side, leaving the sorting to the elves. And when she unwrapped a rectangular present wrapped in white fabric and blue ribbon, she frozed.</p><p> </p><p>Her frigid daughter had sent her a gift – a handmade gift. The symbolism behind sending her a silver-blue hairpin (the same shade as her eyes) with frozen-seafoam crystals (infused with Aria’s magic) embedded in the two narcissuses twined together had her clutching it to her chest, tears rolling down as delightful laughter fell from her lips.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“To Cissy, narcissus is my birth flower.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Aria started replying to Cissy’s long letters, consistent even as Aria sent one-liners or short responses. Gradually, she wore the clothes Cissy had bought, softly smiling whenever she caught a glimpse in the mirror. Aria’s replies eventually became longer and longer, wanting to know more about her godmother. And no one needed to know Aria had softly called her ‘Cissy’, allowing a hug from her.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks she can get used to these blissful times.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tw: blood, depictions of violence</p><p>-</p><p>Hopefully this wasn't too sad like the previous chapter. There's more flower-related words/symbolism than necessary but it was unintentional! Unedited as usual, feel free to leave comments to let me know what you think!. It makes my day. </p><p>And thank you for the kudos and support!! In response, I made this chapter longer than usual for you.</p><p>-</p><p>Edited 5/2/2021. I realised I was writing in passive voice (the same way I would write my scientific reports). Plus, I wanted to do this chapter justice, considering the turning points in Aria's life, the confrontation and the change in Narcissa's and Aria's relationships. </p><p>No new information has been added, I rewrote it in a (hopefully) more active voice, describing more details and showing some their emotions.</p><p>PS: For those still confused, Voldemort was vanquished in late 1983 instead.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. who killed the mockingbird?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>6 scenes;<br/>- a mother's love<br/>- the white ram<br/>- white silence<br/>- a mother's love II<br/>- glassy sky<br/>- the serpent</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the phoenix cries</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘for the mockingbird’s death.’</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>1990 December</strong>
</p>
<p>A tragedy. Albus couldn’t find any other words to describe the guilt within him; crushing his lungs, clenching his heart, churning his stomach. Double murder. Then, arson. The ignition point at the doorway. A child’s innocence lost, like the flames flickering out, like a glass of illusion shattering, as she watched, horrified, at the slaughter by her uncle. Two lives lost.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And another two souls perished in the flames, unknowingly trapped in the house, unable to escape, leaving nothing but ashes – what went through her mind, Albus wondered, as she burnt to death.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But perhaps, it’s for the best. From the light, a child of darkness was born, silent and eyes firmly shut, almost a stillborn if not for the dense magic coursing through her every vessel, frantically keeping the infant alive. Albus had shuddered when he met her, the infant who rejected Lily’s and Albus’s light magic – instead, clinging onto Regulus’s dark magic, enticing it, securing his affection.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A weapon. Horrified realisation had dawned on him, as he watched Regulus straying back to Tom’s side. She’s the Dark’s weapon. They will groom her into a force of darkness, engulfing everything into the void – so perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that the child died before she learned about magic. Before meeting Tom.Before her metamorphosis.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Albus swallowed his guilt, flicked his wand as a silvery phoenix soared. “Tell James and Lily Potter: Solaria and the Dursleys are dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>It was all for the greater good.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>- - -</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>a mother’s love</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘protected the mockingbird.’</em>
</p>
<p>1991 January 4</p>
<p>She’s not going to like this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Narcissa stared coolly at her husband, brow raised as manicured nails tapped against polished wood. An ornate box, centuries old, and freshly harvested from the family vault innocently laid on Lucius’s desk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you know what we’re asking of her?” tone sharp and accusing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lucius, ever the calculating politician, laced his fingers on the desk, lips firmly pressed together, “she’ll be safe under our name,” he paused, allowing his words to sink in. “Or she’d prefer to go into hiding?” To be on the run. A fugitive. Wings clipped, dead to the world, nothing but a pretty doll in a pretty dollhouse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s really not going to like this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Narcissa sighed. She was the one who had to break the news to Aria, not him. The last Aria lost grip of her magic, the entire parlour was destroyed – and she didn’t want to face her wrath. But. She has to. Narcissa had to be the one activating the artifacts – due to her black blood. Keeping her safe. Alive. <em>It is necessary</em>, she told herself. To protect her, Narcissa would do anything, even if it meant chaining the mockingbird to a birdcage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even if it meant losing her daughter’s love.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was pretty.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emerald earrings hung like a tiny teardrop from the diamond stud, and the adularescent sheen of the moonstone set in obsidian band slept on the velvet box. Untouched. Cissy sat, straight-backed and grim-faced, across her, glacial eyes bore into Aria’s skull as she studied the set of jewellery Cissy presented. Glamour. Suppression. Concealment. All three enchantments were weaved deep within the precious stones. And she had to wear it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Shackles.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A rusty cage exchanged for a gilded cage. A birdcage she has to live in lest the wizarding world hunt her down; all because she was born a seer, hence she needed to behave – locked away and protected with multiple enchantments.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hence, she needed to wear the jewellery.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This wasn’t the freedom she wanted. <em>False freedom</em>. An illusion of security easily shattered. She wanted true freedom, to freely spread her wings in the blue sky, proudly brandishing her wings – not this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But survival comes first. And if it meant shackling herself, caged away in a gilded cage, protected by the Malfoys, the prestigious Black name, the old laws, then –</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aria gritted her teeth, jaw clenched as she jerked her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>– then just this once, she will submit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the emeralds pierced through her earlobes with a muttered charm from Cissy, as the ring slid onto her right index finger, heavy and constraining, the ambient magic significantly dampened, the humming snuffling out into silence, and black pupils swirled into existence on frozen seafoam.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She will hide her wings; if it meant survival.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- - -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>the white ram</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“observed the mockingbird.”</em>
</p>
<p>Like his namesake, Aries was a fluffy little thing. Quicksilver eyes; concealing true emotions, head full of silvery white curls; hiding deadly horns. Merlin help those who dared touch his family – even the newest lamb in his herd.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Though young, he was still the son of Lucius Malfoy, Political Powerhouse, and Narcissa Malfoy, Ice Queen of High Society. Hence, like a ram, he charged headfirst into gathering information on his godsister/cousin, pulling every string he could – it helped that his father was doing the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Information, no matter how minor, is a weapon. From blackmail to ruining one’s lineage, from murdering your enemies to protecting your family, information was crucial to Aries. And yet, setbacks after setbacks. Deadends after deadends.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For the very first time, he failed. The Aries Malfoy, child prodigy who understood every theory, performed every spell first taught to him, the perfect pureblood heir, failed. Bruised pride fuelling his determination, he dug into the Potter’s life even deeper – their history, their family dynamic, their relatives, even their favourite desserts, he needed to know. He’ll be damned if he allows such a failure to sully his perfect record.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Along the way, he grew attached to a girl he never met.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(I am her brother, I am her keeper, I need to protect her, it’s my duty.)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, when spring came, halfway through his pureblood lessons, while levitating a heavy tome,his mother strode into the room, head held high with a girl by her side, sparing a cool glance at his tutor before turning to him, tugging on the hand intertwined with the girl’s. The girl with a kneazle as large as a dog by her side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is Solaria Potter-Black, she will be joining you for your lessons from now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The tome slammed down on his tutor’s feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After the initial shock wore off, Solaria was seated by his side, the kneazle lazily grooming its fur around their feet. His tutor’s eyes darted to the giant feline every now and then, as if fearing that he would be attacked. As if he wasn’t a grown wizard with a repertoire of spells enough to kill a mountain troll.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dressed in a white sundress and creamy low heels, hair as white as snow and eyes as green as frozen emeralds, she looked like a cherub who graced them with her presence, or at least, she would if her expression wasn’t that of a cold amusement, enjoying their tutor’s nervousness with a soft smirk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She didn’t act like a child.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her eyes, Aries realised. Her eyes had the same hardened gleam as his father’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Solaria was quiet, her expression always glacial and blank, yet her eyes were oddly expressive, sparkling warmly when the house elves served macarons and dulling when Draco bragged about his Quidditch skills over meals. The green always changing, from light seafoam to deep emerald; pride blossoming within Aries whenever he caught sight of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(Those who possess jewel-like eyes with changing hues carries powerful magic.)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first she spoke, voice soft and silvery, was to thank his father for the jewellery. Aside from that, she was always silent, a permanent statue of the Malfoys, living with them until she attends Hogwarts – the same year as him. Hopefully housemates.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The kneazle, he learned during dinner one evening, was named Cheshire. White roses from their garden clutched between its fangs, ears twitching and tail swishing, it climbed onto the table and dumped the flowers onto Solaria’s plate, a blizzard of petals scattered over the table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Happy Valentine’s to you too Cheshire,” his godsister had muttered as Draco clutched at his middle, smothering laughter in one hand, their mother chastising the smug kneazle, and their father breaking a faint smile at the scene. Aries couldn’t help the giggles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the seasons changed, Solaria’s frosty demeanour thawed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are we family?” His godsister had asked, after their lessons on pureblood family lineage, and the importance of blood kin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Brows furrowed, Aries frowned. “Of course – you’re my sister.” Whatever led to her thinking she wasn’t a part of his herd?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A brief moment of hesitation, a flash of vulnerability, Solaria said, “Aria.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pardon?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Call me Aria.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cold atmosphere between them warmed with the summer sun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- - -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>white silence</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“of the mockingbird.”</em>
</p>
<p>1991 July</p>
<p>
  <em>White lilies softly glowed in the inky void, surrounding them – a girl whose hair melted into the sea of snowy petals, innocent in her slumber, and he, beside her in black robes, a sharp contrast against the white field. Familiarity radiated from her in waves of winter breeze, sliding into the cracks of his fractured soul, forcefully expelled, soothing him. Completing him. Whole.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>His occlumency barriers were still intact, firm and unyielding, and yet, he was caught in her dream – her mind. A connection transcending through mind and magic. A connection he could barely remember through hazy fatigue. It was –</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>As if sensing his lethargy, dainty fingers wrapped around a bony, skeletal digit, and the white lamb murmured, “rest.” Milky lashes fluttered open, revealing eyes like dewdrops under the morning light. Eyes without pupils.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Soul seer.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Solaria.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>With that revelation, the field dissipated in a flurry of silver, and the girl – Solaria! – slipped through his frantic fingers, desperate hands, fading like seafoam as the world collapses.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>-</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He woke against Quirrell’s head, purple silk obscuring his vision. Alone, but not quite; her magic, a gentle cold against his blackened, burnt soul. Complementary magic. A phenomenon he read in the distant past, envious of the connection between two souls, of a connection he couldn’t have. And yet, when a certain babe was born nine years ago, his magic flared to life, cocooning the little bundle. Protecting her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(“…one equal to the Dark Lord…”)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A prophecy half-heard in a dingy bar, passed from mouth to mouth and reaching his ears through a rat. His vanquisher; Harry Potter. His seer; Solaria Potter. The child whose magic soothed the damage of being ripped away from his mortal body by her brother, The prophecy – which child did it refer to?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He clicked his tongue. <em>Reckless.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aria woke to a half-remembered dream and damp lashes. The serpentine man with red, red eyes who invoked such anguish within her, was calling out for her desperately, his soul mangled and weak, shredded and frayed. Tired. It was tired. In that moment, her magic gushed out of her core, excited, and she thoughtlessly reached out, channelling magic into him whilst absorbing his lethargy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(An exchange of magic only occurs when two souls are deeply intertwined.)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lids drooping, Aria curled against Cheshire beneath the cool silk, eyes closing as her core greedily absorbed the ancient and untouched Malfoy family’s magic from the crypt behind the manor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>May the Dark Lord be safe</em>, she prayed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cissy dabbed a damp cloth over her head, wiping away cold sweat, Aries and Draco tending to the fireplace, heating the room, Lucius was by her bed, casting spells after spells. What an honour; having the entire Malfoy family tending to her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, my dear,” Cissy sighed, “how did you drain two-thirds of your magic?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aria surreptitiously kept silent, shivering violently from the magical exhaustion. The chill, biting away at her bones, a blue sheen over her skin; an ice sculpture. How ironic – she turned into one at the Malfoys’ instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Lucius swished his wand into a high arc, sleeves drooping slightly, a faded grey mark caught her eye.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The red-eyed black snake coiling around their souls.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The Dark Lord’s mark.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lucius paused mid-spell, the gentle blue fading, and she felt Cissy’s hand tensing, white-knuckled grip on Aria’s hand. She should’ve known; Cissy was mentioned along with Marvolo. But. Does it even matter? If anything, she will be safer when the Dark Lord returns to power.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lashes fluttered shut. As Lucius continued chanting, as Cissy continued tapping the towel on her forehead, distantly, Aria could hear Draco’s? Aries’s? Sigh of relief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- - -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>a mother’s love</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“slaughtered the mockingbird.”</em>
</p>
<p>Come August, a tawny brown owl dropped Draco’s admission letter onto his eggs, beak clicking at his scowl. Under her chair, Cheshire’s gleaming eyes fixed onto the bird, locking it within its vision; till Cissy slammed a heeled feet between the two animals. Aria drowsily blinked at the spectacle; having just recovered from her magical exhaustion a few nights ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now, Diagon will be packed with muggleborns if we dally any longer,” Cissy’s pearly white teeth glinted in that glacial smile of hers, “let’s head to the Alley this evening, shall we?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I believe – ” Lucius faltered as Cissy glared at him, smile never leaving her face. “ – it’s a good idea to listen to your mother.” Appeased, Cissy shot a concern glance at her before heading off to write Draco’s acceptance letter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As she nibbled on her pancakes, Aria wondered how Cissy knew about her first experience at Diagon Alley.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Flourish and Blotts was disappointing. Aria’s eyes dulled, fingers tapping spine after spine, searching for something interesting, and yet, they were all books found in both the Black and Malfoy guest libraries. Light and Neutral. Not a single on Dark magic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So the political climate had fallen into the Light’s influence. Hidden behind a small hand, a frown marred her angelic features. Politics, though interesting from observing Lucius’s work, would be painting a giant target on her back. If it gets out that she’s a seer, she doubted there were laws protecting her; mind magic was dark magic; hence seers are dark creatures – no longer considered humans.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>But who knew?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aside from Cissy and Lucius. Regulus, Bella and Marvolo. Who else knew?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Did her parents know?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Deep within her thoughts, she didn’t see the boy by the shelf, nearly colliding into him, jerking to a still, face inches away from his collarbone. Deep emeralds glanced up, and –</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>What was he doing here?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>– meeting bright emeralds. Same eyes. Eyes widening, Aria stood rooted to the dusty wooden floorboards. He was saying something, but the torrent of <em>grief/despair/anguish/disappointment</em> drowned out his words, flashbacks of dark cupboard and sobbing silently, biting her lips till they bled, hoping and hoping and hoping for her family, her parents, her brother, to whisk her away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(and wasn’t hope the cruellest torture?)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“ – hey, are you okay?” A hand reached out towards her shoulder, and Aria violently jerked back, frenzied eyes glaring at the boy – her <em>brother</em> – and bumping into someone. Familiar scent. Cissy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, you’re with the death eaters then?” Hadrian Potter sneered, watching the Malfoy Matriarch wrap her arms around the girl.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aria flinched back into Cissy’s embrace at the sudden shift of his expression, hiding her face, her shiny eyes, in her expensive robes. By now, they had attracted a small crowd of redheads as Lucius stepped forward, shielding both Aria and Cissy from them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We were declared innocent, Heir Potter,” Lucius drawled, “it appears that your upbringing is lacking if you are slandering us so freely.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe you shouldn’t let the words of a child get to you, Malfoy.” A new voice shot back, feminine and familiar – familiar like a distant dream; a faded memory – and Cissy’s embrace tightened, hand on her head, pressing it into her middle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Why?</em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who was it that Cissy didn’t want her to see?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>But – that voice.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aria needed to know.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wrenching her head away from Cissy’s hand, Aria half-turned in her godmother’s embrace, twisting back to see flaming red hair, dazzling and glorious, her eyes meeting deep emeralds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was an argument breaking out, insults concealed behind polite remarks, the children glaring at each other behind their parents. But. Aria couldn’t register what was being said. Her wide eyes staring into the beautiful, beautiful soul – light and pure, watching memories of the Potters laughing, smiling, like a film reel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>They were happy without her.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The woman, valiant green eyes glaring at <em>her</em>, arms wrapped around her son, a man with messy black hair stood firmly beside her. The perfect family. The family she should’ve been a part of. The family she <em>hoped</em> for. <em>Her blood family.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(“…blood is the most important for us, for magic was passed down from mother to child…”)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A mirror of the Malfoys’. The juxtaposition, the parallel, slapped across her cheek and distantly, she could feel something within her; taking its last breath. Because. Because –</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(you were the one who slaughtered the mockingbird)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>– Lily Potter didn’t recognise her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lily Potter thought she was Cissy’s daughter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lily Potter had thought her dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b><em>They</em></b> had thought her dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her fingers clenched so tightly in her godmother’s – and she was wanted by her, by them, she was <b><em>family</em></b> – that her knuckles stood out white against blue silk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They thought her dead! Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat, spilling out after Cissy snarled a poisonous insult back at Lily Potter, after Cissy lifted her up; cradled within her arms, after they apparated to Malfoy Manor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Forgotten –</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her nails dug into Cissy’s back, turning white, white, white; everything was white in the cold, her shoulders hunched, curling into the warmth, the taste of frozen cranberries, the scent of expensive lavender perfume – the one she made for Cissy – and her tight chest released an anguished scream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>– without a funeral. Without any tears.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She simply disappeared from their narrative – and they were happy, going on with their bright, cheerful, happy life – as though she didn’t exist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was never a part of it from the beginning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- - -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>glassy sky</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“reflected in the mockingbird’s eyes.”</em>
</p>
<p>August passed. So did September, then October. November. Finally, December. Autumn trees turned bare. Empty. In the white silence, in the cold, Aria could feel her head clearing, thoughts of the Potters falling away like orange leaves, leaving an empty mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cissy hadn’t left her side for the past five months; turning Aria’s desk into her work table, owling and flooing her subordinates. Even during meals, even during the night – curling around her, as if blocking the world out, protecting her. After Draco left, Lucius ordered a house elf to add another bed in Aria’s room, the family of four sharing a single, cramped room in a mansion. The always-smiling, quiet, Aries chatted her ear off, pushing macarons into her mouth as she hid between Cheshire’s fur and the blankets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>During times like these, she forgot about the Potters, about her shackles, about the cage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After all, was it really a cage if she was surrounded by other birds?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>She was standing under the vast, azure blue, blue sky when he met her again. Their feet barely touching the surface of glassy, transparent waters; as if it reflected the sky and the sky reflected back, two mirrors facing each other, colour multiplied and infinite.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Solaria,” he whispered, behind her, careful not to startle the lamb, or a cat. A cat might be more appropriate than a lamb.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s the same colour as Cissy’s eyes.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He blinked, slightly startled at the conversation topic. A name he hasn’t heard in eight – almost nine – years. “Indeed,” he agreed, stepping beside her, ripples forming under them. “Narcissa’s eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, unlike the Black’s grey eyes.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Was she living with the Malfoys now?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“I think I’d prefer blue over green, don’t you?” Head still tilted up, she gazed at the glassy sky, seafoam eyes staring at something beyond.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“I like red.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Like Flamel’s stone.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He stiffened. “I wasn’t aware soul seers were all-knowing,” wryly commenting, “are you going to show me where it is next?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“They speak of a mirror,” her gaze never leaving the sky; and he pushed the envy down, deep behind his occlumency barriers. “A mirror named Erised.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Then, finally, she turned towards him, hands reaching out, small palms faced up, and smiled so softly he felt his heart clench. “I can show you.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Gingerly, with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed, his skeletal hands covered hers, and –</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>A corridor. Dusty classroom. Black velvet curtains. A mirror. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Red stone. Enchantment. Break. Shatter. Take it.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>– images flashed within his mind, knowledge; unknown before, transmitted directly from her touch, along with an ancient, deep voice, echoing within the mindscape, shattering the world around them like a broken mirror.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>As glassy pieces of blue rained upon them, an expression so wistful crossed her ethereal features, “I wonder what my heart desires.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>-</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Draco returns for Yule, he rushed to her room, regaling Aria, Aries and Cissy about his adventures at Hogwarts, Lucius stepping in minutes after. And when Draco mentioned a Professor Quirrell went missing, suspected of theft, and a solemn Dumbledore, Aria softly smiled, the rest distracted and outraged by the news of a Cerberus in the third floor corridor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(“…the Philosopher’s Stone was said to contain trapped souls, using their magic to sustain life…”)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aria requested a book about homunculus.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- - -</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>the serpent</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“meets the mockingbird.”</em>
</p>
<p>Yule passed without much fanfare, and so did her birthday, celebrating quietly in her room, cuddled between Aries and Draco, in Cissy’s lap. Then, Draco left for Hogwarts when the new year passed, sending letters every day; about his lessons and the castle, never about the boy-who-lived, his Eagle Owl glaring at Cheshire, only to be interrupted by a black raven, as large as an eagle, bearing her birthday present, though belated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No note was attached to the blue box – the same colour of Cissy’s eyes – and Aria carefully unwrapped it, after Cissy casted every known diagnostic spells in her repertoire, revealing a pair of silver, round glasses, heavily enchanted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her finger twitched. Did the Dark Lord thought her blind?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Cissy was done with the barrage of blue-violet spells, she frowned, “There are multiple translation enchantments, as well as charms to prevent eye-strain and also runes for night vision. There are no curses on it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Useful.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you know the sender?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Softly patting the soft feathers of the raven, Aria smiled in that mysterious, all-knowing way, “I think you’ll meet him soon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Narcissa knew better than to ask.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Malfoy Manor was the same, grand and ostentatious. Even after nine years. Sharply rapping at the door, he patiently waited for the usual house elf to receive him. A pop behind the heavy wood and the door opened, revealing an elf with clean white linens with the Malfoy’s crest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The same as always.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Inform your master,” lips pulled over pearly white teeth, an imitation of a smile, “Lord Voldemort is back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After the usual kneeling and joyous exclamations over his return, he sat across Lucius and Narcissa, expensive china and bitter desserts between them. He released his magic, scanning the entire mansion for her, frowning when only three magical signatures returned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My Lord,” Narcissa smirked, “she is wearing the concealment ring. I suggest visiting our library after.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hummed, the corners of his lips twitching. “I’m afraid I came here to discuss my new identity instead of a social call.” At that, Lucius leaned forward, interested in his return to high society. Tugging his glove off, he displayed the two rings, a black stone set in gold and an emerald set in silver, on his right hand, “I had a pleasant surprise when I went to Gringotts,” smirking when Lucius’s eyes widened and Narcissa almost spilling her tea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Lordship of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell was vacant, and as the descendant of the second Peverell brother,” he grinned, gleefully, “I am now known as Lord Marvolo Helios Peverell-Slytherin, half-blood son of Lord Voldemort.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jaws dropped, gobsmacked. Oh, how he relished breaking the Malfoys’ composure, always a favourite past time of him and Bella. “Lucius, I believe all the necessary paperwork will be done?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instantly regaining his composure, Lucius inclined his head. “Yes, my Lord.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Marvolo,” he corrected. “It wouldn’t do to call me by my former title in public, lest a certain goat thinks I’m my father.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Narcissa hid a surprised cough behind a blue manicured hand whilst Lucius openly chuckled. Formalities were always so dull, so tense between his inner circle and him; he’d rather keep them happy and satisfied instead of fearful. Hungry dogs were never loyal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Marvolo, “ Narcissa smiled. Ah. Here it comes. “Will you be staying with us?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you wouldn’t mind.” Marvolo sent a sharp smile back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Her room is just across the hall from yours,” so they kept his old room. Her smile turned glacial, “please be reminded that Aria recently turned nine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t dare,” his smile stiffened at the underlying threat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Twirling her finger, black dahlias blossomed from thin air, petals falling and connecting, forming the limbs, the torso, the tail and finally, the head; majestic mane decorated with the dahlias, scattering petals all over as the lion yawned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not bad,” a deep, silky voice accompanied the clap. She glanced behind her to find an unfamiliar man with dark brown eyes dressed in a formal, three-piece black suit, a black outer robe draped across his shoulders. Handsome. Like a fairy tale prince. Sharp jawline and aristocratic features, tall, taller than Lucius, with short black hair, curls falling over the side of his face like a fringe, framing his features.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Guests are not allowed in this library,” Aria frowned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Amusement flashed across his face, a corner of his lips twitched into a half-smile, eyes crinkling as he strode across the distance and sat down, cross-legged, beside her on the carpeted floor. Low growls rumbled from the lion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How you wound me,” the man placed a hand across his chest, emphasising his point. “We met once upon a dream,” the boyish smirk still in place, “two if I’m being specific.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought you’d appear…” she waved a hand at his visage, “snake-ish.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“ ‘Snake-ish’ is not a word, my dear,” chuckling at her small huff, then turning to the dahlia-lion. “Impressive transfiguration, to construct the body of a lion while retaining the petals’ original texture…” Marvolo muttered, hand on his chin, as he inspected the lion closely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is this supposed to be Regulus?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Aria didn’t respond, staring at lion instead, he softly said, “I can bring him back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her head snapped, white locks swishing as she looked at him, eyes like frozen flames, demanding, “How?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He had no trial.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>not edited, I wanted to post this asap since I'm quite excited to write the next chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. the curtain rises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1. the time where she thought about dying<br/>2. the daily prophet<br/>3. through the looking glass<br/>4. the lull<br/>5. the lion in the cage<br/>6. the circus</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the time she thought about dying</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>There was a time where she thought about dying, because the setting sun’s marmalade hue draped across her so heavily she thought she’d suffocate. Mocking laughter and disdainful sneers surrounded her; spiralling into the rabbit hole only to stand by the Red Queen’s guillotine. Chants and chants of <em>‘freak’</em> echoed around her.</p><p> </p><p><em>Creepy</em>, they said. <em>Unnatural eyes and blank expression, always that blank eerie expression</em>.</p><p> </p><p>There was a time where she thought about dying, because no matter how warm summer was, it didn’t chase away the perpetual winter. Face frozen; unable to smile; to feel. Those fleeting moments of happiness, joy - she didn’t know any of it. What was there to be happy of when the world is a staccato grey?</p><p> </p><p>The blooming wisterias were violet; like the constellation of bruises across her tiny body.</p><p> </p><p>There was a time she thought about dying, because everyone had somebody who loved them. And there she was, hidden within her cupboard, abandoned by her family, wishing and hoping and yearning for someone - <em>mama, papa, big brother</em> - to take her away. <em>They already have the perfect son, </em>Petunia laughed cruelly. <em>Why would they want a freak like you?</em></p><p> </p><p>She rolled the word ‘suicide’ over her tongue, the word she learned from the telly. An ultimate control over her fate.</p><p> </p><p>There was a time she thought about dying, because she witnessed a mouse’s death. Dirty white fur; pupil-less red orbs. White powder mixed with water, sweetly-scented, it lured the mouse from the garden who met its demise. The mouse, a dirty little thing – unwanted; burdensome. Averting her gaze, she walked away.</p><p> </p><p>Foam bubbling out of a tiny snout, cloudy eyes like mist fogging over maroon; would she look like that if she swallowed the rat poison?</p><p> </p><p>There was a time she thought about dying but a week later, a grey kitten with eyes as green as hers trailed after her feet.</p><p> </p><p>And she held on for a moment longer.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>the daily prophet</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dearest Readers,</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It is with great joy that I announce the arrival of a new Lord, raising not one – but two dead bloodlines back from the grave. Lord Marvolo Helios Slytherin-Peverell, the halfblood son of the former Dark Lord, age 25, stepped foot in Britain after years and years of hiding from his tyrannical father.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Before you panic, I would like to quote, “The sins of a father are not the sins of the son.” Lord Slytherin-Peverell has agreed for an interview with me in a muggle café, calmly sipping his tea as he smiled politely at a passing muggle waiter. I believe his action speaks for itself on how different he is from his father.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“I was afraid,” Lord Slytherin-Peverell stated. “My mother and I were hiding among the muggles, always alert and wary of our neighbours, the mailman, even the animals. After my mother passed, I received a letter from Lord Malfoy who took care of me, allowing me to live in his estate as redemption of his actions. ”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Readers, from there, Lord Slytherin-Peverell described how Lord Lucius Malfoy assisted him and shielded him from the public eyes until he finally claimed his Lordships. And as we all know, a Lordship cannot be claimed unless the former Lord passes.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>With his presence, Lord Slytherin-Peverell has eased the fears of our society, bringing peace back once more. He swore to rightfully undo what his biological father had done, through his position as a Lord and donating millions of galleons to charity organisations and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I am hopeful to see what further changes Lord Slytherin-Peverell would bring to society!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Written by Rita Skeeter, Chief Journalist of the Daily Prophet.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>through the looking glass</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Softly humming along to the gramophone’s ‘<em>Moonlight Sonata’</em>, she gently rocked back and forth on the swing – silver frame with gilded roses and feathers stuffed in silk cushions – absentmindedly staring at the large basin filled with moon water.</p><p> </p><p>The Malfoy couple hunched over the glass basin on the table, raptly listening, watching, the horde of eager sycophants surrounding their leader reflected on the crystalline surface. By her side, Marvolo lightly scratched Cheshire’s ear, petting its fur as the distorted voices echoed around the silent balcony.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Albus!”</em> A woman shrieked. Molly Weasley, Cissy supplied. <em>“This is obviously you-know-who!”</em></p><p> </p><p><em>“And after the stone was stolen,”</em> Sirius Black muttered, <em>“not much of a coincidence, innit?”</em></p><p> </p><p><em>“The git isn’t subtle,”</em> James Potter agreed, <em>“he looks just like Tom Riddle in Albus’s memory.”</em></p><p> </p><p>A loud sigh before silence. <em>“Severus,”</em> an aged voice called. Dumbledore, her greatest threat. <em>“Are there any news of Death Eater activities?”</em></p><p> </p><p><em>“No,”</em> the deep voice murmured before silence draped over the room again.</p><p> </p><p>At Aria’s muttered <em>‘five minutes’,</em> Marvolo stood, Cheshire jumped onto her lap, and strolled towards the basin, hands clasped behind his back. Burgundy orbs stared into the grey scene of the Order’s meeting location, through Lily Potter’s eyes. A soul seer’s ability to reach souls combined with the daughter’s blood allowed for excellent clairvoyance. And no one even knew they were scrying on them.</p><p> </p><p>A smirk pulled at his lips.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Severus, please contact the Malfoys and try to get closer to Tom.” </em>Dumbledore ordered his former-spy who merely sneered in response before acceding. Lucius stiffened and Marvolo hummed, whose side was his favourite potion master on?</p><p> </p><p><em>“I believe it’s time to step up his training,” </em>turning to the werewolf, <em>“the defence position is open, please tutor Harry after school hours.”</em> Voiced agreement. Then, a few more orders to the aurors among them (Moody, Shacklebolt, Proudfoot, Tonks and a few Lucius didn’t recognise) to ferret for any information in the ministry before the water rippled, ending the scrying.</p><p> </p><p>Behind him, Aria slumped into the cushioned swing, body curling around the kneazle as exhaustion took over. Immediately, Cissy rushed to attend to her, administering potion after potion as he fed his magic into her core.</p><p> </p><p>A moment of consideration before he muttered, “Lucius,” Marvolo twirled the Slytherin ring around his finger. “Plant the Diary in Hogwarts. The resulting chaos should be enough to distract Dumbledore from the trial.” Sparing a glance at the snowy-haired child, he added. “Tell Draco to stay within his common room during the nights.”</p><p> </p><p>Lucius bowed.</p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>That night found Severus Snape standing in the frigid parlour of Malfoy Manor, waiting for his old friend to receive him, with a kneazle as large as the Black mutt. Lazily tapping its tail against the cushioned silk, the unblinking green eyes stared at him as though he was prey.</p><p> </p><p>An inverted dove; flying to its death.</p><p> </p><p>He fears instead of peace, he might incite a conflict between Albus and the resurrected Dark Lord? His son? – His <em>mission</em>, bitterly snarling. Luck would be on his side if he made it out alive by daylight. Distantly, behind layers and layers of occlumency barriers, Severus wished he had taken Felix Felicis.</p><p> </p><p>A flash of white hair in his peripheral.</p><p> </p><p>Expecting Aries, Severus turned towards the side door only to meet green instead of grey. Green like mint leaves. Green like Lily’s eyes. No. Those <em>were</em> Lily’s eyes; the round almond, the hue, the long lashes. Now that the child has stepped into the orange-hued light of the fireplace, the visage of mini-Lily in his childhood overlapped with the child’s.</p><p> </p><p>But where there was red, it was creamy vanilla in this dimly lit room.</p><p> </p><p>The kneazle jumped past Severus, snapping him out of his reverie, large body curling around the girl’s thighs. Beside her, the feline resembled a lion. Severus raised a brow, never breaking eye-contact in the midst of their stare-off, at the girl’s tilted head. As if she found something interesting. Seraphic features twisted into a soft smirk, resembling the feline’s face by her hips, before turning back into the corridor, a brief nudge of her head indicating Severus should follow her, her hair trailing after like streaked sunlight.</p><p> </p><p>Pureblood raised. He wouldn’t bat an eye if he learned Narcissa personally taught her. Her features might resemble Lily’s but her elegant demeanour and straight-backed, dignified posture – those were all Narcissa.</p><p> </p><p>The ice queen forged a princess of snow.</p><p> </p><p>Under the moonlight streaking through tall French windows, her hair wasn’t blonde, but rather silvery ash like occamy eggshells, casting an ephemeral glow around her. This child must be a creature, Severus thought. At the very least, she must have creature blood within her for no one – not even a wizard – can have hair and skin that white and still be alive.</p><p> </p><p>They halted before rosewood doors. Silver handles with carvings of leaves and gem-embedded roses twined across the door, as expected of the Malfoys, but as the girl pushed open the heavy wood, the revealed room wasn’t one Severus recognised.</p><p> </p><p>Obsidian marbled-floor shining under the chandelier like a graveyard of stars and dark-panelled walls lined with rows and rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Across the door was a large desk – also dark, colour indistinguishable within this dimly lit room – and an armchair clearly fitted for a small child. Books, parchments and crystalline objects were scattered haphazardly around the desk and floor.</p><p> </p><p>By the fireplace was Lucius and Narcissa, seated on a large settee, but his attention were on a pair of eyes, glowing like mulled wine by the velvet drapes, trained on the girl instead of Severus. The Dark Lord – or his son – kneeled <em>(kneeled!)</em> in front of the girl, as she whispered into his ear. Severus strained to hear their conversation but her voice was too soft, and the kneazle glaring at him from where it was coiled around the pair deterred him from stepping closer.</p><p> </p><p>“Severus,” Lucius called out. “Have a seat.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p><em>Bound by a golden thread to another’s magic, and lingering affection for Lily Potter, </em>Aria had whispered. <em>But they don’t trust him as he still practises the pagan rituals. </em>That was all the information he needed. A muttered acknowledgement spilled from his lips before she disappeared behind a pair of white doors by the side, presumably her bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo sat across his former spy, legs crossed and a hand covering his mouth in consideration. Severus, bound by an unbreakable vow, was useless to him at the current moment and though he itched to crucio the living daylights out of the traitor, a glance from Lucius was telling enough.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We can use him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“In your letter to Lucius,” Marvolo started, laced his fingers together in his lap, “you mentioned you wished to speak with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid I do not have any need for a potion master at the moment,” he shot a helpless smile at him, eyes crinkling at the corner as Severus Snape stiffened.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he muttered lowly, “however I was your father’s… Subordinate.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what does that have to do with me?” Marvolo furrowed his brow.</p><p> </p><p>“I would like to assist you in your endeavour.”</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo hummed, inwardly amused and outwardly confused at the feeble attempt of ingratiation. “I’m afraid aside from brewing potions for the organisations I’m supporting, there’s not much help I’d require from you.”</p><p> </p><p>Severus, while a great spy and a Master Occlumens - enough to block Aria out from his memories - was not used to a negotiating, bantering Dark Lord. He could see the gears turning as he slowly stalled for time to garner his wits, bringing a lull in their conversation; Severus listing off potions and ingredients he could brew.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps Severus would be more helpful in relaying information to us if the Light decides to pass a bill detrimental to our cause,” Narcissa injected, a vindicative gleam in her eyes, “he is close to Lord Potter and his wife.”</p><p> </p><p>Severus froze. Lucius coughed. Marvolo blinked.</p><p> </p><p>He could hear Aries? Draco? Whistle behind the white door. A delightful smile pulled at his lips in a moment of levity, “that would be very helpful.”</p><p> </p><p>Severus jerked his head.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>the lull</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Old Laws stated Lords were to be exiled to their own estate instead of imprisonment. All to carry out their duties, ensuring there are no financial impacts to the magical economy. The Blacks, in charge of Yorkshire, was most influential and crucial to Magical Britain’s economy. Hence the recession was of no surprise to Lucius. Requesting the Wizengamot for a hearing to ‘<em>correct this miscarriage of justice’ </em>after one was imprisoned would take years at the very least, even with the current recession and unemployment.</p><p> </p><p>Even with his deep pockets and influence over the current minister, the tribunal would take place next fall – a year and a half from now. And aside from bribing the House of Commons and gathering evidence for the trial, there was nothing Lucius could do to cut the red tape.</p><p> </p><p>As he relayed the news over breakfast, he swallowed the bitter helplessness when faced with Aria’s carefully blanked expression and white-knuckled grip on her knife.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>He froze mid-step as he stepped off Hogwarts Express, Blaise slamming into his back with a grunt. “<em>Wha</em> – “</p><p> </p><p>“She’s here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your mother? Draco,” Blaise sighed. “It’s not surprising that your mother is picking you up.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he mumbled, leaving his confused friends behind at the train, brisk-walking, pushing and cutting through the crowd until he stopped in front of the small figure with a kneazle. “You’re here,” he stated, wide-eyed and awestruck. “You’re really here.”</p><p> </p><p>His pseudo-sister softly smiled up at him, eyes like molten jade. “Was Hogwarts fun?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Draco breathed out, but he couldn’t help but think Aria picking him up with his mother was even better than seeing Hogwarts for the very first time.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>By the end of summer, Lucius returned with a black eye and a fuming Cissy from Diagon Alley. Later, she heard from Draco that the Weasley Patriarch had punched Lucius in retaliation like a savage beast. <em>Draco, </em>Aries explained. <em>Even beasts have more decency than them.</em></p><p> </p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>10 November 1992</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aries and Aria,</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Remus Lupin is our new defence professor, can you believe it? And from what I hear, he’s giving extra lessons to Potter – not that it wasn’t obvious enough with all the points to Gryffindor. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t wait to return during Yule and see you again. I am using the scarf and mittens every day, the winter reminds me of you. Two more years, and the both of you will join me at Hogwarts, I can’t wait! Meanwhile, lessons are the same as usual, they are still slowing our education down for the muggleborns and replacing Samhain with that muggle holiday. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Send my regards to Mother and Father, as well as Marvolo.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your brother, Draco</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>PS: Please tell Marvolo that the weaselette is using the Diary.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>11 November 1992</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Draco,</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Aria sends her well-wishes. I think I saw a twitch of her lips when you mentioned the scarf she knitted for you. Our lessons here are the same as usual, you know what I mean – you went through the same lessons after all. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>We can’t wait to attend Hogwarts as well, though I think Aria is a little less enthusiastic after learning Cheshire can’t accompany her for classes. Do you think Severus can pull some strings? Cats are allowed on the list, right? Then again, it might be the fact that she wouldn’t have unlimited access to her hair and skin products – or about the uniforms. I think her vanity might be worse than yours.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve passed your message to Marvolo, he says to stay in your dorms at night for this school year, and to subtly discourage the other Slytherins from walking around at night. I’ve seen Severus flooing over so I think he received the same message as well.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>With love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aries and Aria and </em>
  <strong>
    <em>🐾</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>17 December 1992</em>
</p><p>
  <em>POTTER IS A PARSELMOUTH!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>19 December 1992</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dearest Draco,</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I’d like to request that if you’re going to send such shocking news, please time it to arrive during the night, or dawn, or any other time aside from our classes with Marvolo. Aria blew up the rabbit and Marvolo shattered – I think – all of the windows. It took an entire hour to remove the bloody scent and guts from my hair!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Your most beloved brother,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aries</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>PS: The ministry raided our house yesterday but don’t worry, they didn’t find anything. Arthur Weasley was with the aurors.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Draco blinked at the twin brooding expressions on Aria and Marvolo. <em>I think</em>, he thought, <em>this is the first time I’ve seen her sulk. </em>Behind him, he could hear the distinct click of a camera and the cooing of his mother.</p><p> </p><p>“Aria is upset that she didn’t inherit the parseltongue ability instead,” Aries whispered in his ear. “And Marvolo couldn’t figure out where Potter got the ability from.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will I receive the ability if I ate his soul?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous – you’d get indigestion.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh Merlin. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>the lion in the cage</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Cold. Dark. Damp. The recurring nightmares, his worse fears brought to life every week. The wispy soul-devourers glided through the bars, circling him but never quite touching, instead breath fogged and vision blurred.</p><p> </p><p>However, a lion was still a lion – even dressed in rags, even in a cage.</p><p> </p><p>Dirty fingers tracing sharp angles on the cold stone, muttering under his breath, a chant? A hymn? He lost track. After nine years of intoning the same thing, it starts to sound like a lullaby. The one he sang for her, and the comfort it brings chases the chill away from his body, chases the grotesque grim reapers away.</p><p> </p><p>Bella, across his cell, had carved a rune into her chest with a sharpened stone. Raised silvery lines spreading shoulder to shoulder, across her collarbone and down to her bosom. Rabastan and Rodolphus clasped their hands in a small opening they dug, complementary magic pulsing through them, a cocoon concealing them from the world. He hasn’t seen them since.</p><p> </p><p>Slytherins, they were. Even in the most inhumane prison, even trapped behind bars and heavy enchantments, they managed to adapt and survive – obviating the dementors. Sane. Waiting. Ruminating. Thoughts always drifted to her; the anxiety of being a single father faded, fear and hope consuming him instead, tugging at him from each end. Where was she now? Who was she with? Was she safe? Happy? Loved? What a terrible father he was. Leaving so suddenly, no explanation to her. Does she know the truth or does she brand him as a criminal like the rest?</p><p> </p><p><em>Even if I vanish, </em>their Lord last ordered. <em>Survive at all costs – even if it meant calumny. </em>And yet, the quartet didn’t have a chance. No tribunal. Apparated and thrown into Azkaban with the words of a traitor. This was insanity; doing the same thing over and over again, hoping and hoping. What were the benefits of being an Animagus if it didn’t allow him to slip through the bars? <em>Useless.</em></p><p> </p><p>A gurgling croak echoed from far above, waiting to pick at whatever flesh remains, beak clicking on the bone like a woodpecker. Perhaps death would be a better alternative, and yet, the tiny daggers of fire within his heart tightened and clenched, fuelling his madness.</p><p> </p><p>Swooping down like the predator it was, the black bird <em>(how ironic)</em> settled across his bars. Beady eyes, tilting head, as if contemplating if the lion was worth its meal. Beak parted, and instead of the warbled crowing, a whispery soft voice of a girl’s pierced through the silence.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Revertere.’ </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>As the raven dissipated like mist, as Bella’s high cackle echoed through the walls of Azkaban, in his fatigue, Regulus barely noted the slight sting chasing the Dark Mark away, leaving blue veins stark against ashen skin.</p><p> </p><p>Waves crashed against stone walls.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>the circus</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Seated upon his throne on the first level, maroon orbs traced the second hand, slowly <em>ticking, ticking, ticking…</em></p><p> </p><p>Gloved fingers snapped the pocket watch shut. Leaning slightly back, his right-hand whispered lowly into his ear. <em>It’s time. </em>Somewhere in Scotland, in the bowels of the most ancient school, the boy saviour faces off a basilisk with nary any help. Fingers steepled, elbows resting on the arms of his throne, legs crossed, a casual posture of contemplation, He tracked the seeping members of the Wizengamot, clad in plum robes, a shiny golden ‘<em>W’</em> pinned on their lapels. </p><p> </p><p>The final hearing of tonight. <em>May Lady Hecate shine upon him.</em></p><p> </p><p>As the Minister took his seat, Amelia Bones and Undersecretary Umbridge flanking him, the room settled into silence, the Dark Faction in anticipation whilst the rest in confusion. Lord Slytherin scanned the Light Faction, picking up three vacant seats, no proxy in sight. <em>Good</em>. Lips pulled back, baring his teeth in a cheap imitation of a smile, behind a hand.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(the missing kings)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A knock of gavel. Minister Cornelius Fudge cleared his throat, pausing for dramatic effect, and Lord Slytherin could hear the tight clench of leather glove against wooden cane behind him, before announcing, “The hearing of Lord Regulus Black, Lord Rodolphus Lestrange, Lady Bellatrix Lestrange and Heir Rabastan Lestrange will commence now.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence. Then –</p><p> </p><p>“What is this about?” A wizard demanded.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve not heard of this!”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re Death Eaters!“ Someone from the Light shrieked.</p><p> </p><p>“There are members absent here, we can’t proceed –“</p><p> </p><p>“ENOUGH!”</p><p> </p><p>The gavel hammered against the wooden surface, while loud sparklers shot up into the ceiling, silencing the agitated crowd. Minister Fudge took a deep breath, eyes darting to Lord Slytherin and back at the crowd, “an anonymous tip was delivered to Madame Bones and I, informing us of the lack of trial these prestigious members of society had before being carted off to Azkaban in November 1983.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(the first tug on the marionette)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Only camera clickings and scribbling quills against parchment from the court reporters were heard. Among them, a snowy-haired girl fixed moss green eyes on the Minister as the Wizengamot processed what Minister Fudge said. Prestigious members of society. Two influential Lords and their family. Sent to Azkaban. Without a trial. In Azkaban for nine and a half years.</p><p> </p><p>Before any could speak, in outrage or defence, Madame Bones stood. “We will correct this miscarriage of justice,” she waved a hand at the Aurors stationed by the side. “These Lords and their family should not carry the sins of another, be it the former Minister, or <em>someone else</em>,” her eyes darted to Lord Slytherin, “without granting them a hearing at the very least.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(an imbalance of scales)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>By the end of her speech, four figures shuffled into the room, loud clanking of heavy chains followed every step as they were escorted to four wooden chairs in the centre. Dirty rags hung off skeletal frames, long matted hair clung onto sallow skin and yet, their eyes were sharp, unyielding. Not the eyes of prolonged dementor exposure but rather, fierce fire burned behind eight grey orbs.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(the stars of this farce)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Lord Slytherin hid a satisfied smirk within his fist. The girl leaned over the wooden fence, staring down at her gaunt father with darkened eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“By their request, we will now administer Veritaserum and begin the questioning.”</p><p> </p><p>Two hooded figures obscured by masks entered the courtroom, a small vial of clear liquid in each hand. Beneath their mask, their eyes glanced at the newly crowned Lord Slytherin, who tilted his head slightly in a imperceptible nod.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(two greedy mouths satisfied)</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The first hooded figure stood over Lord Regulus Black, his Unspeakable mask fuzzing out of existence for a split second, and administered three water-like drops into the open mouth of a wide-eyed Regulus Black, before his gaze blurred. Beside him, Bellatrix smirked. Before long, all four prisoners were staring into blank space, vision clouding in a daze from the truth potion.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(an imitation of the truth)</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“The questioning will begin now.”</p><p> </p><p>Amelia Bones stood, “Are you, Regulus Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange and Rabastan Lestrange, followers of the Dark Lord Voldemort in the past, present and future?”</p><p> </p><p>A chorus of <em>‘no’</em> shook the entire courtroom.</p><p> </p><p>“Blasphemy!”</p><p> </p><p>“Show us their marks!”</p><p> </p><p>“Lies!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(the denial of the lambs)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sparklers shot into the air, commanding silence, but as the prisoners pulled away their ratted sleeves slowly. Slowly. Revealing blueish-green veins stark against ashy forearms. Empty. Bare. Outraged yelling from all sides of the courtroom, cries of <em>innocent, they’re innocent</em> echoing around not just the Dark faction but also the Light, horrified realisation in their darting eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I… I believe,” Amelia Bones gulped, throat clenched and voice strained, “It’s, it’s time to take the votes. Those in favour of pardon and reparations, please raise your lit wand.”</p><p> </p><p>Sparkling like a graveyard of stars, two-thirds from the Light, half of the Neutrals and the entire Dark, an overwhelming majority of the Wizengamot voted, <em>not guilty.</em> As the buzz slowly settled, as Minister Fudge listed off reparations by reparations, the sharp glance of Regulus Black met smirking maroon eyes, momentarily flashing ruby-red for half a second.</p><p> </p><p>The girl left.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(the curtains fall)</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Extra:</p><p>In the Headmaster's Office, Hadrian slumped heavily into the plush chairs, panting. Uncle Prewett, Arthur, Molly huddled around the stark white faces of Ron and Ginny, fussing over them like how his parents and Sirius are doing right now. Remus sat by the fireplace, nursing a broken leg, grim faced.</p><p>"I'm afraid," the gravel tone of his Headmaster (leader) washed over them. "This is not a Horcrux. Just an enchanted object."</p><p>Wide-eyed, Hadrian stared disbelievingly at his Leader, the shouts and arguments buzzing in the background. Haunted eyes fell on the black diary, lying innocently with a gaping hole in the centre. His stomach swirled, chest clenched and throat tightened. He emptied his stomach on the carpeted floor.</p><p>what were all his efforts for?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. winter thaws into spring, bringing the summer warmth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1. Regulus<br/>2. Severus<br/>3. Valentine<br/>4. Puppet<br/>5. Letter</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>not edited. An early update and a belated happy valentines and Chinese new year to my fellow readers! Next chapter: Shopping and Hogwarts! It'll be posted sometime next weekend due to my exams, I apologise in advance for the late update ;-;</p><p>Edit: As copied from my comment with regards to someone plagiarising my work: </p><p>I will not delete my work for now due to the selfishness and action of another, but I do hope that if you encounter any plagiarism attempt, please report it or inform me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Regulus</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Little drops of snow gently floating down from the heavens, settling on the ground, sleeping peacefully in the white silence. Aria stood by the tall windows, staring at her reflection, at her uncertain eyes and her trembling fingertips on the glass and the large doors behind her. By her side sat Cheshire, the white-grey cat softly nuzzling her waist, its fur contrasting against her black sweater.</p><p> </p><p>Regulus Black, her father, was behind the door, recuperating from ten years of dementor exposure. During the trial, she had glimpsed into his soul, the torrent of victory and yearning swept her away. The longing and love he held for her; it was different from Cissy’s gentle love and her brothers’ sweet affection. Regulus’s love was fervent. Dizzying. Empowering. A strong steady presence she could lean against – an anchor.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps that was why she stood here, back against the door, courage faltering at the last moment. Releasing a shaky breath, arms wrapped around herself, fingers clenching her shoulders. A curtain of snow against her face, hiding her from her own accusing gaze.</p><p> </p><p><em>Honestly</em>, she thought, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, <em>this is out of my element.</em> “Mana… Help me,” she whispered, concentrating on the gentle cold within her chest, and a light breeze fluttered her hair, enshrouding her in a cocoon of misty black clouds.</p><p> </p><p>“Aria?”</p><p> </p><p>She blinked. The pale face of Regulus Black staring back at her, the grey eyes she knew from her distant memories, faded dreams, wide in shock.</p><p> </p><p>And recognition.</p><p> </p><p>Where Lily didn’t recognise her, Regulus did at a glance. Swelling against her ribs, her heart felt like it was about to burst. The corners of her eyes burnt.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh… She couldn’t do this after all.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Unconsciously, her feet stepped forward.</p><p> </p><p>Regulus, stunned, could only stare at the approaching figure of his daughter. Ten years they have missed, ten years they were torn apart. But he would recognise those eyes anywhere, the soft waves in her snowy hair, the milky white cheeks, and the scent of lavender accompanying her magic; dark and cold. Cold like the first snow against his skin, soothing him.</p><p> </p><p>Hair gently floated around her like a suspending bed of snow, translucent black mist twirling around her frame – a smile stretch against his lips, proudly watching his daughter as she sat on the chair by his bed, her pet’s head rested on her lap.</p><p> </p><p>“How have you been?” he asked, voice hoarse.</p><p> </p><p>Lashes fluttered against her cheeks, lips parted, then closed, and parted again. “I…” Her voice faltered as she slowly drifted out from her reverie, distracted by the deep, deep green egg. His soul felt like peacefully sinking into dark waters, water slowly filling her lungs, soothing and lulling her to sleep. “What took you so long?”</p><p> </p><p>Clear droplets dripped from her shiny eyes, trailing down her cheeks and onto the feline’s head, a dark grey spot against its groomed fur.</p><p> </p><p>They say a father is weak to their daughter’s tears. Regulus hadn’t believed in that saying as she had never cried as an infant, always peacefully sleeping or softly giggling. But now, as he stared into glittering seafoam slowly darkening into a dazzling shade of liquid emerald, he thinks, perhaps he truly was weak to his daughter’s tears.</p><p> </p><p>She watched as he stood, shakily, clear beads dotted his forehead, stumbling over in one, two, three steps. A knee on the ground, at eye-level, eyes like molten mercury, his fingers gingerly lifted her hand. Still meeting her gaze, he pressed his lips against her fingers, murmuring against them, “I swear on my life,” golden light swirled around them, twirling and twining around their clasped hands, “I will never, ever, leave you alone again.”</p><p> </p><p>An audible snap in the air finalised the vow.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Severus</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“You are not Narcissa’s daughter.”</p><p> </p><p>Her gaze lifted from tiny alphabets squeezed tightly into a block of text, peering at the intruder over her silver-rimmed glasses. Lashes fluttering, a small hand shut the tome with a soft thump, meeting the gaze of Severus Snape head on, attention fully on him.</p><p> </p><p>“Cissy will be heartbroken to hear that,” she challenged.</p><p> </p><p>“It is obvious to anyone who looked that you don’t resemble the Malfoys.” He paused for a second, before wryly commenting, “except for your hair.”</p><p> </p><p>The girl leaned back into the swing, coral pink shawl pooling around her frame, propping her chin on a hand, elbow against the giant kneazle; was it Severus or did the cat grew larger?</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the first to notice that,” she mumbled. Eyes sparkling in mirth, a corner of her lip twitched as the swing rocked back and forth. “Whose daughter do you think I am, then?”</p><p> </p><p>Without missing a beat, Severus unfalteringly shot back, “Lily Potter.” Dark eyes traced the slight stiffening of her shoulders and the frown quickly hidden behind laced sleeves. The kneazle, probably sensing its master’s turmoil, was wide awake, round green eyes unblinking. When the girl didn’t respond, still covering her mouth with long sleeves, Severus prompted, “your eyes and the shape of your face are identical to Lily. So, who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Who do you think I am?”</p><p> </p><p>Gazing directly into stormy malachite, Severus stated, “Solaria Lilith Potter.”</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t confirm nor deny his accusation, merely staring at him with a blank, blank expression, scrutinising him. Under her gaze, he felt naked. Bare. As though all his secrets and memories were laid open like a book for her to read. Severus would have entertained that thought for a while longer had it not been the rumbling growl and darkening air; inky clouds materialising.</p><p> </p><p>Shadows slithered from beneath the girl’s long dress and slowly climbing up the trellis, the pillars, his ankles, immobilising him. Her eyes glowing under her fringe so eerily similar to the killing curse. The kneazle steadily stalked towards him, fangs bared, and claws unsheathed, its frame seemingly growing even bigger – almost the size of a griffin.</p><p> </p><p>Wand slotting into his palm, Severus pressed on, asking “why are you with the Malfoys? Why did you not go to Lily the moment you entered this world?”</p><p> </p><p>Silence. The feline gracefully circling him, poised and ready to strike. Just when he thought she would not answer his question, she spoke, so softly he almost didn’t catch it.</p><p> </p><p>“Why would I go to the ones who abandoned me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Lily would not – “</p><p> </p><p>“She <em>did</em>,” eyes fierce, the beginnings of frost spreading from her feet, magic dark and cold swirled around her like a nexus, the air thinning with every word she uttered, “I was abandoned at the Dursleys, abused and forgotten while <em>my mother,”</em> she spat the words like it was poison, her cool countenance twisted in fury, hissing “sent letters bragging about her perfect boy saviour. So, tell me, <em>Severus Snape</em>, why should I run to the Light who labels me a <em>beast</em>? Who will gouge my eyes out and rape me for my blood?”</p><p> </p><p>She’s not human, horrified realisation set in as he stared, wide-eyed, at the thickening miasma of magic, deep and dark like the night sky, like obsidian ink, swirling around the gazebo, caging him with two predators. He wanted to refute, to say ‘<em>the Light will protect you’</em> but he knew first-hand how ignorant and prejudiced they can be.</p><p> </p><p>“Then tell me! Tell me what you went through, tell me what happened to turn you away from the Light,” he pleaded, just like how he pleaded with the Dark Lord to spare Lily. Just like how he pleaded for forgiveness from Lily.</p><p> </p><p>The swirling miasma slammed down on his shoulders. Severus gritted his teeth as his knees knocked against the marbled floor under the heavy weight, folding his waist till he was at eye-level with the feline. Deep, deep green gazed into him like a lance, piercing through his occlumency shields, sending his thoughts into disarray.</p><p> </p><p>As quickly as it appeared, the magic disappeared and the air warmed, oxygen filling his lungs so rapidly he gasped painfully. He took one, two deep breaths, clearing his mind, reorganising his mindscape; it took no more than a minute.</p><p> </p><p>Standing on shaky limbs, he heavily sat on the settee across her, obsidian eyes staring into deep forest green – the same as Lily’s eyes. He watched, silently, as Solaria took deep breaths, shoulders trembling, before releasing a heavy sigh. Her hand stroked the cat’s head, softly scratching its large ears, eyes glazing past Severus.</p><p> </p><p>“I am unsure how I landed up at the Dursleys,” whispery soft voice started her story, and Severus gripped at his robes. “The small, dark cupboard under the stairs was where I lived until I was eight. At first, I was ignored. As I grew older, I noticed the lingering gaze of Vernon on me, as I lay naked and bleeding beneath his belt.” Dread clawed at his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Petunia would remind me at every opportunity of how worthless, insignificant, useless and freaky I am,” rubbing at her cheeks, as though she could still feel the pain, “she loved to use her hands to slap me or pull at my hair. Dudley, their son was spoilt with love and gifts. He would chase me after school, pelting rocks at me, or humiliate me in front of his friends.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes came back into focus, gazing past the pitch-black eyes of Severus Snape and into his soul; a dark navy blue, similar to the night sky, with tendrils of dark grey swirling around like a bubbling potion, deep respect and awe rolling in waves off his love for magic.</p><p> </p><p>“I stopped believing in the Light the moment I found Lily’s letters; I was never in the photos nor mentioned. I had lost all faith in her, gave up my hope for a mother.” Thin arms circled around the feline’s neck, nuzzling her cheek into the grey-white fur. “If I hadn’t had Cheshire and my magic, I would be dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Her heart tightened as her vision blurred. Burying her face into Cheshire’s fur, eyes closed, she breathed in the musky scent of forest and immersed herself in the sensation of running against the wind she felt whenever she was with Cheshire.</p><p> </p><p>The sensation of freedom.</p><p> </p><p>“I saw her in Diagon,” she whispered, voice breaking. “She didn’t recognise me.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence followed her little speech, dragging on until she heard a rustle of robes. And as Severus’s footsteps faded into the distance, she placed all her hope that he would remain on her side.</p><p> </p><p>Betting everything on the memory of Severus Snape cradling her against his chest.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>There’s no way the light will win.</p><p> </p><p>The Dark Lord is at his prime and Solaria, he swallowed heavily, the girl with trembling shoulders and whispery voice in the rose garden, the moment she comes into her inheritance, they will be annihilated. The rage. The anguish. At the Light. At Lily – <em>oh Merlin, Lily, what did you do?</em></p><p> </p><p>Slumping heavily against a tree, Severus buried his head in his hands, desperately trying to make sense of what Lily had damned her own flesh and blood to. He didn’t want to believe it. Yet when Regulus had flooed over to Spinner’s End, sat in a shabby old stool, cradling a glass of firewhiskey, silently sobbing for the lonely infant in the crib – he knew. Lily had changed from the kind red-haired angel he used to know. A little more callous. A little more jaded.</p><p> </p><p><em>How was he supposed to tell Albus about this?</em> He froze. <em>Should he even mention Solaria to him?</em></p><p> </p><p>“You shouldn’t have provoked her.”</p><p> </p><p>Torso jerked and his head rapidly snapped to the boy standing in front of him before sighing in relief, shoulders slumping. “Aries.”</p><p> </p><p>“You might be Draco’s godfather, but mother and father favours her more than you,” Aries smiled, soft and gentle as compared to the sharp, cruel words he spouts, “and so does Aunt Bella, Uncle Regulus and Marvolo.” He raised a hand to hide the ugly snicker marring his aristocratic features, “you are fighting a losing battle.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Side-stepping the stunned potions master, Aries crossed the bridge, disappearing within white roses with a parting, “I’d advise you to choose your loyalty wisely.”</p><p> </p><p>Severus sighed.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The distinct crack of Severus’s apparition followed his entry into the Gazebo. Eyes flitting up, his godsister greeted him with a blink before going back to her book, wavy locks obscuring her face like a curtain of snow and Cheshire shrinking itself into the size of a dog. Aries settled himself in the settee opposite of the large swing and placed the basket of macarons between them on the crystal table.</p><p> </p><p>“A peace offering,” he explained with a smile at the questioning glance, then relaxing as stormy malachite lightened into icy seafoam.</p><p> </p><p>The lid popped open, a glazed purple macaron floated up into a small porcelain hand and disappearing behind pale pink lips. Aries twitched at the casual use of wandless magic, watching as one after the other, macarons slowly formed a line, awaiting entrance into her mouth – or Cheshire’s.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh dear.</em> Did he just spoil her appetite for dinner?</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>“Aria, are you not hungry?” Grey eyes melted, staring worriedly at his daughter; her pallor slightly green after eating three bites.</p><p> </p><p>As she shook her head, Aries ducked his head down, covering his face from Narcissa’s glare.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>“It’s complementary magic, common between magical twins and people who share similar magical signatures,” Rodolphus explained to Aries, watching glittering ornaments floating up and hanging onto the Yule tree. “There,” he pointed to the joint hands of Aria and Marvolo, soft golden hue enveloping it, “they’re sharing magic between each other through their soul corridor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Like soulmates?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a muggle concept. There are myths and lore around this connection but in the end, it is just an astral connection between those with similar magical signatures.” He scrunched his nose, flapping a hand towards his twin. “That was how Rabastan and I survived the dementors.”</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Valentine</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The depravity was heralded by the nightingale’s lilt croon. Robin blue wings swooped down before Marvolo, white underbelly exposed as it presented its ashy feet, a small heart-shaped ruby dangling off the black ribbon. All eyes on him, he untied the little package and tapped it with his wand. Buzzing, then, a glib, distorted voice spoke from the gem, <em>“We hereby invite Lord Slytherin and his guests to the Labyrinth on 14 February 1994.”</em></p><p> </p><p>The nightingale gave a little chirrup, flitting over to Aria’s shoulder, beak clicking against her emerald earring. Marvolo hummed, white yew danced between his fingers. Wood cracking. Flames popping. Momentary silence, then, dark maroon met icy seafoam, lips twitching slightly. “The Labyrinth is an auction house,” he explained in a silky voice, ensnaring all the attention in the parlour. “An annual black market auction, to be exact. Only a selected number of nobilities are invited, regardless of race or nationality.” Tapping on the ruby for emphasis, “This year’s theme is red.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do they auction?” Aries asked, tilting his head up from the heart.</p><p> </p><p>“Magical beasts, creatures, humans, rare ingredients, artifacts, books,” Regulus listed. “Whatever you wish for, it is there.” At his daughter’s questioning gaze, he elaborated, “I’ve frequented The Labyrinth for a few years before you were born.” His brows furrowed, contemplating. “Perhaps we can see if there’s anything to your fancy there.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a lot of fun things there,” Bella grinned, nuzzling her cheek.</p><p> </p><p>Aria tilted her head in consideration, seated in Bella’s lap, before white-vanilla locks bounced with her nod. Narcissa snapped her fingers, calling for an elf, and spoke, “I will prepare your outfits then.” There was no room for argument.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The ruby portkey activated at midnight. A swirl of colours, air compressing down every side, as if they were rearranged at the molecular level, then, a pop and three pairs of feet landed on expensive red carpet, the smaller of the trio stumbling slightly. Regulus wrapped a hand around her shoulders, steadying her before adjusting her bone-white faceless mask.</p><p> </p><p>From snowy white to inky black, her hair, glamoured and bundled with a scarlet ribbon in twin tails, flowed around her frame like the Styx river. She was dressed in a burgundy long-sleeved ruffled shirt and a high-waisted black skirt, the hem fluttering against her red heels. Regulus and Marvolo was dressed similarly, burgundy shirt under a three-piece black suit and shiny black loafers, a faceless mask obscuring their faces.</p><p> </p><p>The labyrinth was black, shiny and marbled with crimson, like blood spraying from an artery. The nightingale chirped, flapping its tiny blue wings, guiding them towards the auction hall. Every so often, as they slowly made their way towards the hall, turning around the corners, Aria would catch sight of red hearts ensconced in the pillars, glowing morbidly.</p><p> </p><p>Cloaked figures were stationed at the entrance, a glass bowl within their hands, half-filled with the same ruby they received last week. Like them, the other guests did not wear any cloaks or hoods as per regulations; only the guards are hooded in black for easier identification.</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo dropped the ruby with a slight clink into the bowl, and at the nod of the guard, they entered the auction hall. An enchanted organ by the side played a low baroque tune, adding onto the grim atmosphere, faceless figures adorned in expensive outfits filtered into the hall like a masquerade ball.</p><p> </p><p>With Marvolo holding one of her hands and Regulus holding the other, they followed the nightingale into a private front balcony on the third level. Heavy velvet drapes lined the enclosure, three large thrones situated in the centre, a black hooded figure by the railings, the only source of light: small orbs floating like will-o-wisps.</p><p> </p><p>“The auction will begin in ten minutes,” the robed figure spoke, masculine and low, “I will be your guard and caller tonight.” A scroll was handed to each of them as they settled against the plush – also red – cushions of the gilded throne. Aria unfurled the scroll and glanced through the catalogue.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>House Elves: Infant. Fully matured. Trained.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Human: Non-magical. Squibs. Magical.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Artifacts: Fata Morgana. Sage stone. Misc.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Books: Hymn of Hel. Ophiuchus Heart. Misc.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Potion Ingredients: Freshly harvested.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Beasts: Dragons. Unicorns. Chimera. Manticore. Horned Serpent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Beastmen: Infants. Adolescent. Corpses.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Creatures: Veela. Dragonoid. Lamia. Siren. Harpy.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“The potions ingredients are not stated,” she murmured, catching the attention of the guard.</p><p> </p><p>“It will be harvested from the living beings or corpses if the bidder wishes.”</p><p> </p><p>Just as she was about to ask about the artifacts and books, the candles snuffed out, enshrouding the entire hall in darkness. Hushed whispers broke out, the organ playing a tune reminisce of a circus’s theme, only slightly slower and gothic. A bright lumos casted a spotlight on the stage, revealing a man bowing deeply, a wand against his chest.</p><p> </p><p>The auctioneer straightened, grinning and suited in red and a half mask, he appeared tall with his top hat, red and flamboyant. Aria couldn’t help but liken him to a jester.</p><p> </p><p>“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the annual Labyrinth!” Hands splayed out in the air, he exclaimed, “Tonight’s theme is the ‘Queen of Hearts’,” red hearts gushed out from his wand like a fountain, floating up like red lanterns, “may our dearest guests find their valentine. Now, let’s begin the show.” The music quickened, curtains rising, “it’s showtime!”</p><p> </p><p><em>Just like a circus, </em>Aria thought, clapping her hands along with the audience. First were house elves, the fully matured ones stumbled out, hands and feet chained to a choker painted bright red. Infants, bundled together,  were levitated onto the stage in the same bright red cages adorned with hearts.</p><p> </p><p>“How tacky,” Regulus muttered, Marvolo humming a sound of agreement. The trio remained silent throughout, listening to the bids called and the auctioneer’s cheerful voice. As she stifled a yawn, two guards came on stage, bulky and tall. “Sol, watch this.” Regulus excitedly ordered, the grin stretching across his face was almost audible.</p><p> </p><p>One of the guard brought out a butcher knife, the other holding the trembling house elf down on a clothed white table. <em>Oh, </em>a faint smile pulled at her lips<em>, they’re going to paint the roses red. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>A swing of silver, an echoing shriek, skeletal fingers dropped onto the stage, red staining white, dripping over the edges. Silver flashing under the bright lumos, the palm was next, continuing till there were no more limbs for the guard to hold down. Screams and moans of pain garnered tittering laughter behind faceless masks. How terrifying it must be, to view the sea of faceless figures on the stage, all dressed in red like toy soldiers.</p><p> </p><p>The guard hacked off the house elf’s privates, slicing its belly open from there, the other guard levitating the freshly gouged out organs into stoppered flask, swirling the clear preservation potion red.</p><p> </p><p>The brutality was entertaining, however, Aria soon grew disinterested at the spectacle and Marvolo had leaned back, cheek against a propped arm, the very expression of boredom, starting small talk with Regulus and her instead.</p><p> </p><p>Next were humans, muggles, squibs and muggleborns with the occasional pureblood. Their eyes were blank like dead fish, skin clung to their bones and head shaved. Living corpses. Walking skeletons.</p><p> </p><p>“Witness this,” Marvolo muttered, low and soft, as they watched the grotesque mockery of entertainment. “Our enemy isn’t the Light, but rather, the culture here; where magical races gather together for blood sport and depravity.”</p><p> </p><p>“Like the gladiators in ancient Rome,” Aria chimed, eyes tracing the rolling head.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. This market used to be for criminals, prisoners of war, beasts specially bred for potion ingredients, willing participants to pay off their debts and those who betrayed magic herself,” arms crossing, he further commented. “How ironic that both Light and Dark magical beings, regardless of race, nationality or blood purity, gather under a roof for such a farce.”</p><p> </p><p>“Power does bring out the worse of people,” Regulus agreed. “There are no benefits, it’s just pointless violence.”</p><p> </p><p>So as not to be violated. So as not to be corrupted. So as to keep their hands clean, a garden of malice and brutality blooms under the moon, a dinner of madness with such complex flavours. Whispery laughter bubbled out of her throat.</p><p> </p><p>The artifacts and books were next, each presented on a pedestal and Aria could see the difference in their behaviour; unlike before, there were more calls, each fervently trying to out-bid the other. The miscellaneous listed in the catalogue came first, then the highlighted artifacts and books. Cocking her head, hair dripping like ink over her shoulders and neck, she couldn’t help but wonder if these myth-tier items were authentic or a replication. The glass case was specially enchanted to prevent detection spells and her sight showed an overlap of magical auras, unable to get a clear read.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fata Morgana</em> swirled in dark purple, an indication of mind magic, she learned, specifically a mind-altering runestone capable of casting a wide area illusion. Interesting, but easily replicable with an amethyst. The <em>Sage Stone </em>was the same – a mere jade with mind enhancement enchantments to accelerate the user’s thought process. Again, replicable.</p><p> </p><p>However, when the <em>Ophiuchus Heart </em>made its entrance, Marvolo called for a starting bid of 8000 galleons, chuckling at the auctioneer’s gaping mouth. The gavel knocked, piercing the silence with a <em>‘sold!’</em> and the book popped onto his lap.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s written in parselscript,” he elucidated.</p><p> </p><p>Parseltongue. The ability that eluded her. Metallic blood bloomed in her mouth, the inside of her cheek pierced by her molars. She remained silent, watching the <em>Hymn of Hel </em>bought by a willowy woman with long, pointed ears.</p><p> </p><p>The beasts were largely uninteresting, most of the potion materials she could obtain through Lucius’s slightly-shady connections. She was sure Severus knew where to purchase them as well. Gaping hole of scarlet, intestines slithered out like slippery centipedes, a pool of blood painting each white wooden table red. Eyes and organs in clear flasks were magicked out of the stage and into the respective bidders, many of whom, she noticed, were humans.</p><p> </p><p>Then, came the Beastmen.</p><p> </p><p>Mesmerised, she stood, ignoring the questioning whispers of her alias, and leaned over the balcony, the guard chanting a safety charm onto the railings. She felt more than heard Marvolo by her side and Regulus behind her, the former holding her hand, the latter rested his hands on her shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>Humanoid figures trailed one after the other; heavy chains hung off inhuman wrists, bulky chokers on furred neck and iron muzzles on snouts. But. There was no need for such unnecessary precaution. Stiff like wooden puppets, features peaceful like sleeping beauty; their bodies manoeuvred like a marionette, dancing and twirling around the stage like ballerinas.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Danse Macabre.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aria hummed, carefully scrutinising all the corpses before pointing to two with her free hand. “That lion and elk.”</p><p> </p><p>Above her, she heard Regulus indicating a price and the guard calling out the bid with a sonorous. Tall and lean, the messy black mane framed a feline-esque face, eyes a milky red, death permanently frozen within. The other had long, ivory antlers, sharp and curved, strong hooves and calves.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Cissy should have bought her dolls such as these instead of porcelain ones. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Kneeling, a small hand, stark white in contrast, stroked the mane, combing it into a resemblance of neatness. They were so beautiful and majestic, puppets easily manipulatable and a hollow husk of a body, forever frozen in its prime. The Cheshire cat laughs in the dark, nuzzling the scent of death like a perfume.</p><p> </p><p>They left before the creatures came out; she had no interest in carnal pleasure after all.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Puppet</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Grinding, the enchanted knife sawed through the antlers, its sharp tip gleaming under little orbs of lumos, then falling onto the marbled stone with a thud. Fingertips grazed along the curvature, smoothing raised bumps with magic concentrated in her finger pads.</p><p> </p><p>Turning around, cheerfully humming a lullaby Regulus taught her, she pressed the tip of her knife against a muscled chest, pushing until she heard a click. She adjusted her grip on the handle. Sweeping the knife down in a ‘V’ and a straight line down till the top of its private, blood sluggishly flowing out, drenching her hands, pooling on the cold marble table.</p><p> </p><p>She reached into the flesh, digging out the stomach, then dragging out the slippery intestines, dropping them onto the floor with a squelch. Next were the diaphragm, reaching her entire arm from under the ribcage, she firmly pulled out the lungs and heart, using the knife to slice through connective tissues through the gaps of its ribcage. She then hacked off its privates, feeding everything to Cheshire.</p><p> </p><p>Magical steel, melted by her dear father, trickled out of the jar, an incantation under her breath, slowly coating the ribs, spreading to the spine, then to the rest of the bones under its flesh.</p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t do for her puppet to break.</p><p> </p><p>Enchanted orbs and gems (<em>courtesy of Marvolo</em>) were slotted into the empty spaces, acting as artificial organs, powering her puppet. She replaced the knife with a smaller dagger, a knee on either side of the corpse, hunching over and carving runes on the flaps of the sliced flesh, painstakingly paying attention to every detail.</p><p> </p><p>By the time her feet landed on the floor, her fringe clung to her forehead and her shirt was drenched with blood and sweat. <em>It was worth it.</em></p><p> </p><p>Pushing the heavy, muscle flap back, she murmured an <em>‘episkey’</em>, watching the flesh knitting itself back, leaving flawless, ebony muscles, unmarred and gleaming. Moving onto its head, she positioned the antlers previously hacked off and said another incantation, the bone moulding onto its skull, behind its ears.</p><p> </p><p>Stepping back, she admired her puppet. It’s black mane glistening and majestic, muscular torso, long lean limbs, the sharp claws and its padded feet. Its eyes, at half-mast were a sea of deep ruby, covering the pupils and iris, its snout parted slightly, displaying sharp fangs.</p><p> </p><p>Now, all she had to do was learn how to reanimate the lion Beastman. Hands against her hips, she stared and stared, reaching her magic into the ley lines beneath Grimmauld Place, hoping the ancient magic of Gaia would provide her with some answers. An hour passed. Nothing. Sighing, she retracted her magic into her core.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe her father could help.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Letter</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He had not expected Marvolo, the Malfoys and the Lestranges crashing over at his place occasionally. No, Regulus knew they would be unable to resist his precious daughter’s absence, but he had expected a visit once a week – twice per week maximum – after he had dragged Aria back to Grimmauld Place with the promise of assembling her new puppet.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t foresee them flooing over <em>every day</em>.</p><p> </p><p>And he certainly didn’t foresee his estranged brother crashing through the door and staring, gobsmacked at the gathering of previously-known Death Eaters and the Dark Lord’s son.</p><p> </p><p>Why couldn’t his seer daughter warn him about this? And don’t they all have work to do?</p><p> </p><p>Sighing in exasperation, he leaned back into his seat, placing his quill down and crossed his arms, “Sirius. What are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Reggie, I – " He took one look at Marvolo, then Bella, and turned around, leaving the room. After a moment of silence, the wards alerted him to Sirius’s exit, reminding him that he needed to ban Sirius and any unwanted visitors from his house.</p><p> </p><p>An owl swooped past him, blowing his paperwork into disarray, and another followed the first, its wings knocking his inkwell over. His brow twitched, smile strained, watching the excited chatter of the adults over their Hogwarts letter; Cissy and Marvolo offering to bring Aries and Aria shopping. He pushed back and stood, walking over to his dear daughter.</p><p> </p><p>This is fine.</p><p> </p><p>But he’ll be the one bringing her to Diagon instead.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Dipping a porcelain finger into purified rainwater, ripples pulsed out from the blood flower, glowing red in the darkness. “May the stars guide me…”</p><p> </p><p>Crimson swirled into a miniature castle, a goblet of fire, then a pair of slanted blue eyes stared directly back at her within the basin, effervescing out of existence, leaving white anemone petals.</p><p> </p><p>Pink lips twisted in a frown.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bonus:</p><p>He found her again in the gazebo, however, unlike yesterday, she had company in the form of the Dark Lord – or his son, he still hadn’t figured out who he was. She laid her head on his lap, a fleece blanket draped over her and the Wampus cat curling around her. Ruby red eyes (so it was the Dark Lord) snapped onto his figure as he kneeled before them, “I would like to speak to Heiress Black.”</p><p>Severus dared not to raise his head, instead studying the ivory floor, awaiting permission. From his peripheral, a gloved hand gently patted her head, waking her. Drowsy green eyes fluttered open and Severus took that as his cue to continue speaking. “I have heard from Draco that you have an interest in potions. I would like to offer my tutorship to you.”</p><p>“Severus is an excellent Potions Master,” the Dark Lord softly muttered, carding his fingers through her hair. She blinked sleepily at him, considering his offer. </p><p>“I accept.”</p><p>-</p><p>“Why do you have a Wampus Cat?” Severus asked, inspecting the boiling potion with a small frown. </p><p>“She is a Ragdoll-Kneazle,” came the distracted reply.</p><p>“No. She’s a Wampus.”</p><p>Blinking, her blank expression gazed up at him, the knife pausing mid-cut on the chopping board, sticky petals clinging on her fingertips. Severus could see the moment surprise overtook her in her eyes.</p><p>“You have a XXXX creature as a pet and you didn’t know?” Sighing in exasperation, he turned around, facing her with a serious expression. “They are capable of legillimency and hypnosis. Said to be impossible to kill. Your ‘Ragdoll-Kneazle’ has Wampus blood in it, presumably from its kneazle side. Cheshire is extremely dangerous even though it looks like an overgrown, fluffy Ragdoll cat.” Severus spoke. Slowly. Hoping it would knock some reason into her. </p><p>Over Yule, he came to a realisation that being spoilt senseless by not just Narcissa but also the Dark Lord – call me Marvolo – and Regulus and almost everyone else, had dulled her common sense.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Yes. ‘Oh.’ ”</p><p>“She is still going to Hogwarts with me.”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>The potion overflowed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. a study in Black</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1. albus<br/>2. rabastan<br/>3. sirius &amp; andromeda<br/>4. lily<br/>5. hadrian<br/>6. ollivander</p><p>Extra: marvolo</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And I'm BACK! Exams are done, my work is settled and along with my peaceful days is this chapter! All of your comments while I was on the brief hiatus fuelled me on, bringing joy and happiness to my stressful exam period as well as the little plagiarism fiasco. This chapter can be summed up in two words: "dubious intentions" or "grey morality".</p><p>Check out my Tumblr for an artwork of Solaria I did for a coursework at kiiyuki.tumblr.com </p><p>Please don't shout at me in the comments regarding Sirius or Lily or Severus :'D </p><p>There's a plan, I swear! </p><p>PS: enjoy the little romantic fluff in the extras as my apology gift for taking so long!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>albus</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The Book of Admissions were never wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Wrinkled blue eyes stared at the yellowed page, tracing the name of a deceased girl scrawled across in blue ink; in Rowena’s handwriting, he was told many years ago. The name should have been black; should have been dead. Perhaps in his late age, he had grown careless. He had allowed himself to be blindsided by Tom when Albus should have predicted his actions. After all, a king needed his knights to win.</p><p> </p><p>“I was told she ran away from her relatives.”</p><p> </p><p>Hands steepled on cluttered desk, Albus peered at him over half-moon glasses, lips firmly pressed into a line. The recollection of ashes and charred debris at the forefront of his mind left a taste as sour as the lemon drops he fancied.</p><p> </p><p>Severus sat across him, robed in black like a thestral. Dignified. Towering over the others with broad shoulders and a sturdy back. Delivering his report like an omen of death.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The Messenger.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Years of observing Severus allowed him to glimpse the flicker of hesitation in his trembling eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw and the discreet tension in his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps, just perhaps, Albus had entertained the possibility of a doppelgänger, or a homunculus, raised from the dead by a heartbroken Regulus. A hollow echo of the past, devoid of magic, as lively as a doll. Yet, the sympathising cadence of his tone, the recount of mirrored anger, fuelled Albus’s doubts of his loyalty.</p><p> </p><p>Was the thestral telling the truth or was it a lie shrouded behind his bitter childhood?</p><p> </p><p>Severus was a moral streak of grey between black and white; the shadow between light and dark. Bound by the unbreakable oath, by his tender guilt for a red-haired girl, to Albus’s lamb – to protect him at all cost.</p><p> </p><p>Withholding the truth was not a violation of that vow.</p><p> </p><p>With a grave sigh, he stared at the name in blue. Plans and scenarios churning over within his mindscape, discarding the failures, calculating the possibility of success. The morality of Tom’s weapon.</p><p> </p><p>The Book of Admissions were never wrong.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>rabastan</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The first Rabastan experienced her magic, it was during their regular fencing lesson; a requirement of every pureblood heir to wield at least one type of weapon – in the event their wand failed them. Normally, a wizard would use the weapon as a conduit in place of a wand. In a normal situation, a child would experience a dissonance between their weapon and magic; like Draco. Like Aries.</p><p> </p><p>Solaria Black was not normal.</p><p> </p><p>Innate magic materialising as black thunderclouds, lightning streaking through like constellations – she was using her innate magic, not ambient magic. Hysterical disbelief boiled through his veins at the display. He had heard from the rest<em>: be careful</em>, they said, <em>when riled, her magic is like a natural catastrophe. </em>But Rabastan didn’t believe them, scoffing at his brother, dismissing Regulus.</p><p> </p><p>And now, he took his word back.</p><p> </p><p>The black clouds gradually transitioned to liquid galaxy, curling into petal-like claws, poised and pointed at him. Her rapier hung loosely from her hands. It was something like an Obscurial, yet more controlled, less frenzied. Calm.</p><p> </p><p>As Rabastan ducked from the first strike, rolling against the ground, he dissipated into black mist, apparating behind her, his brass knuckle buzzing with static magic whizzing towards the back of her head. Rabastan was certain her magic was sentient, at the very least a mirror of her will because there was no way a child would be able to strategically manoeuvre her magic in such a complex tactic.</p><p> </p><p>But she was full of openings - what she lacked in experience, she compensated through raw strength. Perhaps if it was up against someone less skilled, she would have dominated them with raw magic, and that arrogance was her downfall. That was how with a sweep of his leg, he knocked her down against the floor, cushioning and safety charms activating as she fell with a squeak, dark claws effervescing away.</p><p> </p><p>Later, during the night, as he cradled a tumbler of gin, he brought up their duelling session to Regulus. With an emphasis on her overconfidence, the type of magic she wields; an obscurial-like magic and her sight, and her potential for necromancy, he advised, “I suggest announcing a formal statement that she is under the protection of the Malfoys and the Lestranges during the next Wizengamot session.”</p><p> </p><p>Merlin knows she needs all the protection they are able to provide when she enters Hogwarts and debut in high society.</p><p> </p><p>Because they will all see her as a monster.</p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>sirius &amp; andromeda</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Sirius Black was a strange man.</p><p> </p><p>His emotions were so capricious, shifting from joy to rage. From absolution to condemnation. Quick to anger, quick to judge. Manicured nails tapped against the armrest, seemingly lost in her thoughts as she bore witness to the loveless Black family reunion.</p><p> </p><p>And he was quick to forgive, unlike her cousin Andromeda. Seated between her and Cissy, Bella wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to her side as she scowled at the intruders over Aria’s head. Perhaps if the atmosphere was not this solemn, she would have sent a curse in Bella’s direction for her physical affection, both ending in a mock duel, maniac grins plastered over their faces.</p><p> </p><p>The two Blacks – one blasted off the family tree and the other disowned for forsaking her pureblood duties – exchanged glances at each other, holding a silent conversation with their eyes. Regulus and Cissy, both seated across their respective siblings, were stone cold, eyes burning with a quiet anger and protectiveness. It was warranted, Aria supposed, seeing that the duo showed up at Malfoy Manor, demanding an audience with the <em>entire </em>Black family – not so subtly hinting Aria’s presence was compulsory. There was a hierarchy to follow even in family, and the eldest had the most sway.</p><p> </p><p>Their souls were telling enough for Aria. Andromeda, steady and protective, was worried for her own daughter’s inheritance which was usurped by Aria, demoting her to secondary heiress of the Black family. Sirius, whimsical and impulsive, wanted to know the truth behind her sudden appearance back into society – for his best friends’ sake.</p><p> </p><p>Not for the first time, she wondered if the consequences to her sight, boredom and predictability, was worth the power. Everyone she had met so far, save for Marvolo and Severus, was transparent before her eyes. And not for the first time, she wondered if placing her bets on Severus was worth the dubious loyalty. It was his fault they knew about her this fast.</p><p> </p><p>“Was it true?” Steady eyes focused on her, Sirius inquired, brows set in a permanent furrow. “Was what Snape said about your relatives true?”</p><p> </p><p>Aria smiled blandly in response, already predicting what Sirius wanted to ask.</p><p> </p><p>Seemingly deeming her reaction a sufficient response, Sirius proceeded to ask, “do you want revenge? Against Lily and James or Harry?” A hint of fear twined around his tone.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” His eyes widened, thrown off course. She suppressed the indifferent amusement, focusing on maintaining her police façade.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(never reveal your emotions)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Softly, like wind chimes, her voice twinkled through the silence, “Your… Friends and godson,” Aria turned to Andromeda, “and your daughter are not significant enough to necessitate any emotions.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(always hide your fangs behind a fan)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Rest assured,” her smile freezing into a visage of ice, “they are not worth getting into a family feud over. I’m sure my <em>Lord Father </em>shares the same sentiment.”</p><p> </p><p>(<em>and above all else, disarm them with elegance)</em></p><p> </p><p>“You meant your words then,” Andromeda sharply retorted, disbelief mirrored among the two Blacks – a stain of white blemish on their noble heritage. “You truly will not touch them, will not cast them out of high society.”</p><p> </p><p>Aria tilted her head at a slight angle, blank eyes and blank smile. An empty promise. The absurdity of their request truly amazed her. If the white sheep wish to remain among the wolves, then so be it.</p><p> </p><p>On a stage swarmed with snakes and hidden threats, there was no room for the gallant pride of white lions.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>lily</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Lily was a good mother. Not perfect, for she knew her flaws were reflected in the arrogance of her oldest. The quick prejudice against others, a Gryffindor’s chivalry, Hadrian’s negative aspects were a reflection of hers. But she was a good mother; giving all her love and devotion to her children, protecting them – sending her to Petunia for her own good.</p><p> </p><p>(b<em>ut whose sake was it for?)</em></p><p> </p><p>Déjà vu.</p><p> </p><p>The memory of a small infant overlapped over the straight-back figure. A book in her hands, eyes skimming through the pages, filtering sunlight highlighting her features and dancing across the silky chiffon dress, the perfect portrait of a pureblood heiress. Ephemeral and captivating; how very different from the chubby babe twelve years ago.</p><p> </p><p><em>How was she alive</em> - Albus had said she was dead, burnt to ashes with Petunia. So why was she here, standing before her?<em> And how did she not recognise her earlier? </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>The trembling child she saw three years ago – how did she missed the green eyes, the sharp jaw and the defined cupid’s bow she sees in the mirror every morning?</p><p> </p><p>Mesmerised by the striking visage of the Black family, the anxiety was a distant echo. That was her daughter. That ice cold princess, beautiful and seraphic – she was <em>hers</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Nails dig into her palm, leaving white crescents, watching Narcissa Malfoy’s expression softening as she neared <em>her</em> daughter. The glittering grey eyes of Regulus Black – so much like Sirius’s whenever Hadrian laughed – bursting with pride and affection. Standing between Regulus and Narcissa, her daughter was the embodiment of a Black heiress; the epitome of an aristocrat.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing like her.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Why was Narcissa acting like her mother – when she was hers. <em>Hers, hers, hers. </em>Lily was the one who carried her in her womb for nine months. She was the one who gave birth to her. She was named after her - her middle name is hers; Narcissa Malfoy, the wife of a Death Eater, had no right to replace her spot.</p><p> </p><p>Copper filled her mouth as she watched the Malfoy’s spare lean down to whisper against her ear – their relationship analogous to that of siblings, a relationship that should have been shared between Hadrian and her – twin glances flitting over her figure before turning away in synchronicity, as if deeming her insignificant. As if she knew Lily’s guilt.</p><p> </p><p>Molars grinding, the anger was secondary to the injustice she felt. It was not her fault her magic rejected her touch. It was not her fault she would wail and her skin would blister from Lily’s magic. It was not her fault so why was her husband – so absent in raising his children – regarding her with pitying eyes? Why was Sirius shooting a critical glance? Why was Regulus (and se was the one who nominated him, to save him from the Dark) pretending as though she did not exist?</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>And why was the Dark Lord treating her like someone precious?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Ironically, Draco encountered Hadrian at the Defence against the Dark Arts section.</p><p> </p><p>“Aries, Aria. Please, meet Hadrian Potter, the boy-who-lived.” Turning towards Potter, he introduced, “This is my brother, Aries and my<em> sister</em>,” grinning at the flinch, “ Solaria Black.”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s a Potter,” Potter oh-so-valiantly sulked, going against pureblood etiquette, head held high despite the underhanded comment. Oh, antagonising him this year would be so much fun. Smirking, he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin against her head, “oh you blood traitors gave up your right to call her a Potter years ago. Didn’t your Auror daddy tell you about the trial?” Grinning, he said, “she prefers to be known as a Black.”</p><p> </p><p>In his peripheral, he caught the strained smile and slight furrow of brows on Aries’s forehead. Not that he couldn’t sympathise, the Potter name is stuck with her lest the current Lord disowns her blood through a magical ritual. Something the Potters did not go through because they forsake their roots, forgotten their noble traditions.</p><p> </p><p>Did they think they could discard her and claim her back now that her prospects are so attractive? As though she was nothing more than a pawn they can discard and keep at will?</p><p> </p><p>Glancing down, Draco had to suppress the snicker threatening to surface. Aria, ice cold, stone face Aria, was positively beaming at Potter, smiling so brightly, so vindictively.</p><p> </p><p>Powdery white hair tied back in a half bun with a black butterfly lace ribbon with matching black dress, high collars framing her pointed features, she resembled Narcissa Malfoy more than his mother. She was so different from the girl he met three years ago; small and fragile looking, freezing like a doe when their eyes connected. Now, her dignified presence towered over them despite her petite frame, mirroring the haughty signature mien of Ice Queen Narcissa.</p><p> </p><p>Hadrian knows he should be bowing, as per etiquette, to her, someone of the highest stature among their generation. Yet, as he looked down at the innocent smile and sparkling emerald eyes, he couldn’t help but see his mother’s and his features in her.</p><p> </p><p>“I am your brother,” he stated.</p><p> </p><p>Aria remained smiling, “I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“The Malfoy’s aren’t your blood family.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.”</p><p> </p><p>Waving a hand at the arms still wrapped around her waist, he scowled, “then why are you allowing Malfoy to do this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wha – that’s not a valid reason! Both of you are unmarried!”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s my big brother.”</p><p> </p><p>A furious blush overtook his features at the Malfoy brothers’ snicker as she threw his words back at him.</p><p> </p><p>“No, he’s not.” The frizzy-haired pretty girl by Hadrian’s side enunciated, slowly. Patronisingly. “The Potters are your family, Lily gave birth to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Aria decided, at that moment, that she disliked the muggleborn. Draco’s hands tightened around her waist at the disrespect, the disregard of their etiquette. “Do you consider the Potters as your family?”</p><p> </p><p>Caught off guard at the attention focused on her, she blinked. “Yes, of course. The Potters are like my second family here in the wizarding world.”</p><p> </p><p>Aria didn’t miss the Freudian slip; the implication that she didn’t consider the wizarding world as her home. “Miss Muggleborn…?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Hermione. Hermione Granger.”</p><p> </p><p>“Miss Granger,” channelling the tactic Cissy drilled into her, the one where her eyes conveyed both pity and condescension, she stated, “I am proud to be a witch, a child of magic, to be able to partake in the splendour of magic with a loving family who shares the same views as I.” Tilting her head to the side, childish confusion painted her words, “why should I view someone who abandoned me as my family?”</p><p> </p><p>She felt Draco stiffening.</p><p> </p><p>Her words might have flown over the Weasley’s head and taken at face value by Hadrian Potter, but the intelligent muggleborn – one who thrives on knowledge, boundless curiosity for the unknown – picked up on the hidden meaning.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(They will abandon you. I can show you what magic truly is.)</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Aria,” Aries whispered, tilting his head towards her stoic father, “they are done with the purchase.”</p><p> </p><p>Shooting the Golden Trio one last smile, her hand slid into the crevice of Draco’s arm. As they escorted her back to their parents, Aries whispered, “what did you see in her?”</p><p> </p><p>Aria merely hummed.</p><p> </p><p>And as they reached their parents’ side, the Potters stepped into their path, both staring at her, disregarding the rest. She froze momentarily when she picked up their intentions; ugly green envy and putrid yellow resentment. As well as the alarming red of primal caution. A type of caution one feels while encountering a beast.</p><p> </p><p>“Lady Potter,” she inclined her head politely, a formal greeting to those of lower stature.</p><p> </p><p>Lily flinched. The polite smile was so empty, hollow, as if it was there for mere formality. She couldn’t help but falter.</p><p>
  
</p><p>And in her hesitation, she missed the chance to speak to her.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>ollivander</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>His soul was different.</p><p> </p><p>Unlike others whose were an egg shaped, Mr Ollivander’s was like a tree. Each branches birthed buds of emotions, flowers blossom into memories. The scent of lush greenery and wet soil accompanied his magic.</p><p> </p><p>“It is rare,” Mr Ollivander spoke, bowing deeply at <em>Aria</em>, disregarding Regulus. “To meet one of the same race as I.”</p><p> </p><p>Frowning at the implication she was not human, Marvolo gripped tightly at her hand. Was his sight how he knew which wand favours which wizard? Or perhaps they share the same creature ancestry? Nevertheless, he interrupted what Ollivander was about to say next.</p><p> </p><p>“We are here for these two’s wand.”</p><p> </p><p> The greying man spared him a single glance before pulling out a box from the stack at the side of the shop. “Rowan and Phoenix Feather. 11 and a half inches, pliant.”</p><p> </p><p>As silvery mist glid out from the tip of the handsome red wand, Ollivander described, “Wizards possessing Rowan wands are known to be protective, excelling in defensive charms.”</p><p> </p><p>At that, Aries smiled at Draco and Aria, pride blossoming within his soul at the approving nod from his father. The wand thrummed softly in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>She was next.</p><p> </p><p>Mr Ollivander disappeared behind the shop, emerging ten minutes later with a box yellowed with age. Silvery blue-green tendrils swirled around the exterior, and as he placed the box before her, the inert magic shot towards her.</p><p> </p><p>Along with a gleaming white wand and an embedded green gem.</p><p> </p><p>“Silver Lime and Everfrost core. Eleven inches. Unyielding.” His gaze was indefinable. The hand on her shoulder tightened yet the pain was secondary to the panic welling in her.</p><p> </p><p>“An Everfrost core is said to be capable of conducting an infinite amount of magic.”</p><p> </p><p>Narcissa shot towards her, arms tightly wrapped around her back in a protective gesture.</p><p> </p><p>“The emerald embedded stabilises the magic, balancing the flow.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellatrix drew her wand, poised at the speaking wandmaker.</p><p> </p><p>“It is also associated with sight; the revelation of future events and truth.”</p><p> </p><p>Rodolphus and Rabastan each shielding Draco and Aries respectively, battle-position on standby.</p><p> </p><p>“The wood, Silver Lime, resonates magic, amplifying it.”</p><p> </p><p>The door slammed shut, shutters drawing over windows, enveloping the store in dim shadows, at the wave of Lucius’s wand.</p><p> </p><p>“It is also said to work best within the hands of a seer.”</p><p> </p><p>Regulus’s wand dug into Ollivander’s throat, the black wand contrasting against his ghostly white neck. Marvolo stepped forward, eyes burning like a sea of flames, wand aimed at his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr Ollivander,” Marvolo smiled, sharp and shark-like, “let’s have a chat shall we?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>- - -</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Something Extra that I don't know where it fits:</p><p>And when he smiled at her, she reached out, entranced,  finger pads barely grazing his lips, tracing the outline of his tender smile. The curve of his cupid’s bow, the depth of the corners, the softness of his lips against her fingers. </p><p>Hands rested against her hips as he allowed her to touch him, to see him at his most vulnerable, most genuine. Slowly, gently, calloused hand slid up, alternating between  curling a lock of hair around his index and carding his fingers through the loose waves.</p><p>The affection she had for him was something different. Different from what she felt with Cissy and Regulus. The sensation fluttered within her chest, butterflies flitting over the cages of her ribs, its wings tickling her swollen heart. </p><p>And it appears Marvolo had realised what she was feeling – for his eyes widened and lips slightly parted momentarily, before cradling her head against his neck. Musky vanilla, like a blanket, wrapped around her, steadying her throbbing heart.</p><p>Lips pressed against her forehead; the warmth lasting for the entire week.</p><p>(he will wait as long as she needed to come to terms with her emotions. until then, he is content being by her side as her teacher, brother and friend.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. honeyed yew, serpent's breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Introduction of new characters, the beginning of Hogwarts and a glimpse into Aria's soul seer ability, as well as Slytherin's power play. Artworks included are mine, please do not remove the credit or reupload. Do leave comments about your thoughts/questions and which aspects of the story you wish for me to explain more of and if my writings are too vague.</p><p>Edit; to ensure a better quality, I'll be changing the update schedule to an estimation of 1-2 weeks. I've been feeling stressed over the self-imposed deadlines. I apologise that there won't be a bonus chapter as planned for this week, instead, please take the artworks included as an apology gift. I will start including graphic darker themes so do heed warnings for future chapters.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Ollivanders</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Hiding behind Narcissa, Aria peeked at Mr Ollivander. Calm and composed, as if he was chatting with the not-quite Dark Lord over tea, he said, “Lord Slytherin, I see no need for the precaution.” Tilting his head at the wand against his throat, he wheezed slightly, “The wand chooses its owner. That’s all there is.”</p><p> </p><p>Seemingly finding something within those silvery eyes, Marvolo lowered his wand, raking a hand through his hair. A lone curl fell over his forehead. Sighing, “There was a wand, the brother to mine, give that to her.”</p><p> </p><p>“It has been sold.”</p><p> </p><p>Shoulders freezing, his expression was akin to a caught salamander before composing himself, voice thunderous and cold. For the very first time, Aria realised why Marvolo, the one who showered her with lazy affection, was known as the Dark Lord. Sable flames swirled at his feet, flickering and licking at the wooden floor, charring it.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t deem it fit to inform me?” A tendril of fire curled around Mr Ollivander’s ankle. The air choked with burnt flesh; the scent that accompanied her as she left Privet Drive, never turning back, the corpse of a flower burning to cinders. Lambent light danced along white bone, oily black dripping grotesquely.</p><p> </p><p>Mr Ollivander remained still.</p><p> </p><p>Despite the pain, Mr Ollivander’s eyes never broke focus, piercing into hers. Aria’s fingers twisted into Cissy’s expensive dress, wrinkling the chiffon. The other clutched tightly at her newly acquired wand, her knuckles as white as the accursed wood. Of all things, why did the Silver Lime chose her - was it not enough her eyes marked her as a seer?</p><p> </p><p>“Marvolo,” reaching her magic out, a wisp of black joined the black flame, sizzling as it made contact, coiling around his magic. Twinkles of gold flickered in and out of existence like small bursts of fireworks. Slowly, as he took a deep breath in, the flame retracted with hers, loosely spiralling with hers by her shiny boots.</p><p> </p><p>She knows, by the tension within his shoulders, the restrained anger within his eyes, that he was a hair’s breath away from burning the poor wandmaker. With a wave of his hand, Marvolo turned away from him, clicking his tongue as Regulus attended to the skeletal ankle. Mr Ollivander raised a brow, then -</p><p> </p><p>The memory of a bright-faced eleven year old surfaced – golden light sparkling from the tip of a burnt umber wand. Proud hazel meeting verdant.</p><p> </p><p>And something within her clicked.</p><p> </p><p>Like gears locking into place, the realisation of Marvolo’s solemnity dawned upon her. The firmly pressed lips and harrowed eyes after leaving the bookstore, the averted gaze, cognizant rubies hiding behind chestnut – it all made sense.</p><p> </p><p>The golden egg encasing a shard of mulled wine – the abnormality of a fractured soul clinging desperately onto magic so different from its nature, spidery strands sucking at the gold as if it was dying of thirst.</p><p> </p><p>A wand Marvolo couldn’t go against. A certain wariness. The nostalgic longing of a shard desperate to re-join the main soul, tugging at their shared magic welled within her chest.</p><p> </p><p>A soul container.</p><p> </p><p>Hadrian was a soul container.</p><p> </p><p>He knew.</p><p> </p><p>And he didn’t tell her.</p><p> </p><p>And Hadrian – golden-child, lion-heart, had everything she doesn’t. A family. A serpent tongue. A connection surpassing Death; soul-deep. Petal-pink lips crumpled as Aria hid her face into Cissy’s soft tummy, her magic darting back, slapping away from Marvolo’s shocked gaze.</p><p> </p><p>The salamander froze.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Gringotss</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>As a Heiress of a Most Noble and Most Ancient Family, she was not allowed to show any emotions in public. <em>You can always cry later in the privacy of your room</em>, Cissy taught. But for now, she must hide all emotions. Though it doesn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to sulk. She just had to do it silently, behind the privacy of her own mindscape.</p><p> </p><p>Stubbornly fixing her eyes onto the trembling goblin, she feigned ignorance to the boiling firestorm behind her. For a Dark Lord, he was somewhat sensitive to rejection – especially after Aria pointedly turned her head away, hand stubbornly latching to Rodolphus of all people with as much physical might she mustered, lest he runs off.</p><p> </p><p>And she pretended naivety of the tense situation, emptily staring at the assistant goblin who squeaked like the House Elves back home whenever it made eye contact with her.</p><p> </p><p>Rodolphus’s fingers twitched every now and then, and Aria could feel the desperation seeping out from his soul, beseeching her to let go of his hand lest the burning sun scorched him.</p><p> </p><p>Was his magic why Marvolo chose the Sun God’s name for himself? Perhaps it was his arrogance. Briefly, she entertained the thought the sentiment was for her, but she didn’t dare touch upon it. She has had enough disappointment in her life.</p><p> </p><p>From a side door, Balmung trotted out, an obsidian box in his hands. The Black’s account manager dismissed his assistant, who all eagerly ran off.</p><p> </p><p>Another jewellery.</p><p> </p><p>Another protection.</p><p> </p><p>As if the moonstone ring was not enough. As if the emerald earrings was not enough. As if the ruby-eyed snake coiled against her wrist – disguising her wand as yew wood if scanned by others – was not enough.</p><p> </p><p>Sighing, she stuck her right hand out, left still stubbornly clutching at the pale Lestrange Lord, and her father slid the obsidian band onto her thumb. The carved wings of the raven enveloping around her thumb, bright golden garnet sat within its eye sockets.</p><p> </p><p>Pure Devotion.</p><p> </p><p>The marking of an heiress.</p><p> </p><p>All she needed now was a necklace, she joked to herself, as the Black Family magic settling over her mind, fortifying it. Perhaps blue topaz would be apt.</p><p> </p><p>Cheshire needed a choker after all.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Turquoise</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Gleaming slitted eyes lazily blinked at her owner, whose face furrowed in concentration as she raised a silver-ribboned aquamarine against her silvery fur before discarding it into the hands of a very stiff Dark Lord.</p><p> </p><p>Fangs gleamed under the artificial lumos of the boutique as she yawned, jolting the store attendant by her owner’s side. The man who carried the scent of woody vanilla was frozen like the corpses her owner collects. Clad in black and ruby eyes blankly staring into the distance like that Black Lion, Lio, he resembled the Head Butler back at the giant white mansion with the white peacocks. As she picked and discarded chokers after chokers, the man stiffly smiled, the corners of his lips strained under the barrage of shiny collars heaved into his arms, before floating away with a twitch of his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Cheshire has watched over her owner since she was a kitten, both growing from scrawly fragile dandelion into sturdy elegant lilies.</p><p> </p><p>Her twin.</p><p> </p><p>Her most precious.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps that was why – as her darling settled on a black ribbon with a blue stone like that lady’s eyes – she was able to sense the satisfied purring of her magic.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps that was why the Dark Lord sighed fondly as he purchased their new necklace.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Viridescent Guardian</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She was never good with fire. Unlike Marvolo who commanded infernos with mastery, whose flames submitted to his entire will – Aria’s was explosive. Volatile. She could craft delicate sculptures out of ice, finetuning it into intricate works of art, powerful, whilst the slightest wish of burning something would conjure bonfires, blazing everything down to cinders.</p><p> </p><p>With a wand, the ferocity increased in magnitude.</p><p> </p><p>Fire attributed spells are common in Hogwarts and Aria couldn’t afford to fail a simple <em>Incendio.</em> And as the saying goes; do it a thousand times over and you’ll master that skill; Aria invested the last month before Hogwarts started into fire spells, everything from a basic incendio to fiendfyre with Marvolo stepping in, taking over the reins, ensuring their safety.</p><p> </p><p>Sweat rolled down in waves at the back of her neck, her forehead, her back, clinging the flowy shirt against her skin. Channelling all her magic into the conduit, steadily feeding the wand, a continuous stream of white-hot fire flowed like liquid diamonds out from the tip of her wand. Hours passed, the constant meditation of focusing on solely the flames, emptied her mind.</p><p> </p><p>A bokeh of silvery green flickered at the back of her mind, gradually coming into focus. Serpentine body, majestic mane and large antlers lazily coiled in the skies. Fiery amber eyes and flaming whiskers, a mythical creature thought to be long extinct. Resembling a serpent but not quite. Resembling a bird but not quite. Resembling a lion but not quite. A mixture of streamlined body and feathered scales like free floating gossamer.</p><p> </p><p>A union of celestial and terrestrial, a serpent and an avian. A bird-snake-god, a Dragon of the Middle Kingdom, a Quetzalcoatl.</p><p> </p><p>Feathered Serpent.</p><p> </p><p>Infant God.</p><p> </p><p>And when her eyes fluttered open, at the gasp of Marvolo, at the surprised hissed of the basilisk, she came face to face with a floating dragon no longer than her arm.</p><p> </p><p>Radiating nostalgia she hadn’t felt in years.</p><p> </p><p>It was perhaps the only fire that submitted to her will – much like the large fiery basilisk by Marvolo’s side, coiling around them on the charred ground, yet the grass underneath its belly remained verdant and lush. As the dragon’s snout parted, a string of hisses, sibilant and hair raising, pierced through the air.</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo hissed back.</p><p> </p><p>Aria could not understand what he said, or even what the dragon-feathered-serpent uttered, yet instinctively, she knew what it meant.</p><p> </p><p>An introduction.</p><p> </p><p><em>Mana</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Her magic personified in glorious silvery-green flames and burnt amber eyes curled around her neck like a scarf, its blazing head nuzzled against her cheek, frost licking off the billowing ice cold fire. Like a child taking its first steps, Mana swirled around, taking in its surroundings with a childlike awe, an infant curiosity.</p><p> </p><p>Did she just infused a soul into a semi-sentient form of energy?</p><p> </p><p>And as she gazed up at Mana, perhaps, with Lio, she could do the same.</p><p> </p><p>And perhaps she could finally speak the serpent’s tongue.</p><p> </p><p> - - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Malfoy Manor; Dressing Room</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Pale fingers still skeletal from years in Azkaban swept a lock of hair behind her ear, combing her fringe into a resemblance of order. Standard black tie nestled between pressed collar and black robe billowed around her, twirling around, checking over her appearance in the large mirror. Behind her sat Draco and Aries, both readily dressed in Hogwarts uniform.</p><p> </p><p>Leaning down, he pressed his lips softly against her forehead, murmuring in askance, “are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>Tilting her head to the side, she stepped back, facing him, dark clouds haloed around her frame, eyes glittering like stars. “Of course, Lord Father.” Crescent eyes, crescent smile, an embodiment of a child of the night. “He will pay for his treachery.”</p><p>
</p><p> <a href="https://imgur.com/SyXsPyT"></a> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Kings Cross; Hogwarts Express</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Gold bounced off scarlet, bricked walls, slabbed platform casted in sepia. Billowing smoke wafted Platform 9 ¾ dreamily. Bustling crowds and indistinct chatter saturated the station, families tearfully – joyfully – sending their children away. Aria watched from the window, guided and seated by Draco to Slytherin’s section. Hands satisfied with gold reconstructed their compartment; the seats used to be leather split from years of overuse, the wooden floor scratched and ceilings dusty – according to Draco who heard it from an upperclassman who heard it from another upperclassman. There must be a substantial amount of Galleons funded for the moss quilted seats and polished oak was reminisce of Malfoy Manor.</p><p> </p><p>Lucius being the Head Governor of Education must have played a role.</p><p> </p><p>Nevertheless, flipping a page, Aria withstood the eventual onslaught of children, lining up to greet her like proper heirs and heiresses. Minor nobles desperate to fill the position of an advisor, an assistant, a knight or a playmate. Standardised roles dictated by old men long dead to elevate their status; as though being subservient to someone was the only way to do so. The simpering sycophants offered compliments after compliments, empty flatteries and pretty words spilling from honeyed tongue. Perhaps this was why nobles have a big head.</p><p> </p><p>Why Cissy could manoeuvre them like puppets on strings.</p><p> </p><p>“Heiress Black,” the cobalt-black haired Heir bowed, a hand folded behind his back, hand over his chest, then grasped at Aries’s forearm; a greeting of brothers. “Aries,” he smiled warmly, dark blue eyes sparkling like deep waters, aloof yet welcoming at the same time. “It’s been a long time.”</p><p> </p><p>Aries returned the smile, turning sideways to face his godsister, palm raised upward in introduction. “Aria, this is Augustus Carrow, the tertiary Heir – “ at that, his smiled strained “ – of House Carrow.” His palm then gestured to the girl beside Carrow, silvery-blue hair curled along her shoulders and light blue eyes like blue skies. “This is Rachelle Nott, the first daughter of House Nott. Younger sister to Theodore.”</p><p> </p><p>The girl with a smile that never quite reached her eyes, painted across her lips like well-crafted lipstick. Her soul tinted with a sort of pathetic pride, the memory of suppressing emotions and wearing a permanent mask surfaced. Changing who she inherently was, lying even to her own self, just for a silver of affection and attention from others. Carrow, unlike her, was aloof, instead never quite learning how to say no, enduring the responsibilities and duties thrown onto him by others, placating them and afterwards, when alone, he shed silent tears as his wrist ached and fingers cramped around a quill, memorising and studying for hours and hours on end.</p><p> </p><p>Rachelle felt like a masked fox. Just like Carrow. Both endearing themselves to Aria childishly, the topics of dresses of the latest trend from Cissy’s magazine – the casual Witch’s Weekly and the luxurious Nyx’s Constellations – to subjects commonly covered in heirship lessons, anticipating their classes in Hogwarts. Both Aries and Aria would enthusiastically participated had they not been trained by the Malfoys, Regulus and especially Marvolo.</p><p> </p><p>As it was, Aries politely interjected every now and then, maintaining the conversation’s flow, smiling where it was appropriate, leaving openings for Aria to join in should she wished to do so between him and Carrow. But she had her own duty to fulfil. Having seen an opportunity in the uneasiness of Nott, who struggled to keep up with the academia discussed, Aria introduced the cat curled within her lap, hand raising its chin up.</p><p> </p><p>Cheshire, shrunk by Marvolo, proudly preened as Nott – call me Rachelle! – fawned over its choker, whose palms either pressed against her cheek or together against each other in a smart display of eagerness. Genteel yet conveying interest. Though some of her words were empty flatters (having seen through her intentions via her sight), Rachelle was tactful and skilled for a child, her mask consistently maintained. She never faltered in the face of Aria’s cold eyes and blank smile, instead taking up the initiative to introduce the other heiresses to her, an avenue to join the future ladies of high society. Heiresses and young ladies Rachelle had made with her own efforts, being quite the social butterfly – wings flitting in an abundance of energy.</p><p> </p><p>And as the quartet climbed into the boat, their attentiveness to her actions never faltered, mindful of her body language even as their magic were captivated by Hogwarts’ prolific magic, the heavy concentration of swirling mass beneath the stone castle, deep within the ley lines. A nexus.</p><p> </p><p>And as they trailed behind her feet like eager puppies, both a step behind her, Aria decided she had found her playmate.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Great Hall; Sorting</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Potter-Black, Solaria.”</p><p> </p><p>Hushed silence washed over the crowd, and as Aria strode towards the stool, straight-backed and raised chin, she spied confused faces – faces of heirs and heiresses she recognised from the Malfoys’ education – among the crowd, her attention particularly caught onto the shocked faces red-haired twins, of a brown-haired chubby boy, of <em>her dearest brother’s</em> fans snapping at him.</p><p> </p><p>How ironic that even now, the spotlight was on him.</p><p> </p><p>A stiff Professor McGonagall – grey spotted soul like tabby cat markings – gingerly placed the Sorting Hat on her, engulfing her head, obscuring her face in shadows, and everyone held their breaths, anticipating, hoping.</p><p> </p><p>The rustle of fabric against fabric, then - a prickle against her Occlumency barriers, requesting entrance. Aria lowered her shields, her astral form drifting to the forefront of her mind, a clearing surrounded by foggy trees, an illusionary woodland. A silver of green flashed between the trunks every now and then, the guardian of her mind. <em>Of her soul.</em></p><p> </p><p>James Potter focused from the high table, the fretting mutterings of ‘Gryffindor, Gryffindor – heck even Hufflepuff would be fine’ from his side. The knowing gaze of Severus Snape. The calculative thoughtfulness behind half-moon glasses.</p><p> </p><p>Disembodied voice chuckled, throaty and ancient. And with the same ambiguousness as Mr. Ollivander, that voice – she assumed it was the hat’s – listed her traits one by one.</p><p> </p><p>“Resourceful, cunningly using the people, the situation, to your advantage, reaping the benefits of it.” An invisible ghostly touch skimmed along her forehead, like a tapping finger. “Loyal to no one except yourself, thirsting for freedom like desperate ambition.” Aria was fascinated by the mechanics. It was magic so rich, so ancient, like thick, dripping honey emerging from the inner core of Gaia.</p><p> </p><p>Divine Ambrosia came to mind.</p><p> </p><p>And in her fascination with the ancient magic of Hogwarts, she barely registered the sad whisper of the hat, “and may you find love in Slytherin,” before bellowing out the Serpent’s House.</p><p> </p><p>A clatter of utensils, the clang of gold goblet against bronze plate. He, along with Sirius gaped. As her lashes slowly rose, revealing glowing jade, James knew there was no salvation for her.</p><p> </p><p>Black robes fluttered behind like butterfly wings edged in emerald, the metamorphosis had begun.</p><p> </p><p>
</p><p> <a href="https://imgur.com/VHXPRVN"></a> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To clear up a few points, the feathered serpent and the eastern dragon mentioned do share multiple similarities in their appearances, as well as the symbolism and mythology. Hence, as the future consort of the Dark Lord and growing up in the company of Slytherins, I tried to combine the two together and I'll use the terms interchangeably. </p><p>The fiendfyre mentioned was described as semi-sentient in the wiki, hence as her soul seer ability and necromancer heritage, Aria is able to 'create' souls. Though create is a loosely termed word as it is more like giving birth, the souls growing along with the experience and memories she accumulated. The fiendfyre in Aria's case would be more of a guardian spirit and the only fire-attributed magic she has full control over (through the guardian spirit's will) and also a connection to the parseltongue ability she desires. Lio, a word-play on Leo (from Regulus) and Marvolo's middle name (Helios) is the Black Lion puppet she made. </p><p>James and Sirius are temporary professors in lieu of the Triwizard Tournament, doubling as teachers and aurors for their fourth year. Next chapter will cover their Hogwarts life as well as the first and second task, as well as background events occurring outside of Hogwarts.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Politics have no relation to morals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An insight into Slytherin politics.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>"Politics have no relation to morals." - Niccolò Machiavelli</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>1 September 1994;</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Slytherin Table</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Unlike the lions roaring with loud questions directed against their boy saviour, she can <em>feel </em>the surrounding snakes shifty eyes and discreet glances prickling at the side of her face. Whispery strands of words bobbed to the surface, breaking sepia waters, then dipped back down.  Snippets of hushed conversations behind her, at her sides, even in front of her, were maddeningly irritating. Buzzing like flies that caught sight of honey, fresh fertiliser fuelling the Hogwarts’ grapevine. The stern ‘<em>quiet!’ </em>of the Deputy Headmistress streamlined into static. All that sparkles are not gold for the glittering flames beneath starry night sky are just candles and illusions; fuelled by heavy, light magic of the headmaster - a thick fog of white pressed against her, feeling as though she was numbly swathed with cotton.</p><p> </p><p>Hogwarts was not what Draco described.</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo was right, she had to fend for herself here, no one can protect her. Magically. Socially. Aria was at a disadvantage with nothing but her Lord Father’s name and Marvolo’s name backing her up. But here in Hogwarts, accidents can happen – accidents <em>do </em>happen. A charm misfiring. An overpowered transfiguration turning against its caster. An exploding cauldron. A school where a man seeking to end her existence had the most power. And that was outside of the common room. Among all of the students here, perhaps Aria’s influence carried the most weight. A muggleborn having her backing can rise through the social ladder like koi fish climbing against the waterfall, boosted with her help to soar into the skies like a dragon. While any of the noble heirs here, minor or higher, would be known as her ‘<em>vassal’</em>, enjoying privileges and freedom whilst she was shackled to a desk. Or worse, a spouse. Just like Draco’s fiancée.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Straight back, steady eyes, soft smile.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aria studiously fixed her eyes, fixed her ears on Aries’s hurried summarisation of every single noble heirs and heiress in their year. The boy with messy dark curls obscuring almost half of his face – untidy and scowling – was Blaise Zabini’s younger brother, Dante; seated diagonally across them. Something about him ruffled her caution. His aura, his magic, the way he distanced himself from her out of all the rest, the way he seemed unbothered by his rumpled clothes among those more powerful than him; among circling sharks. Aria had only seen one person act that way – the assurance he was above the sheep. A predator.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Straight back, steady eyes, soft smile.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Malcom Baddock, dark haired, dark eyes; a miniature Severus, and by his side Graham Pritchard, plain and dull. Minor nobility. No – they were considered upper middle class at best, their title bought with a joint alliance a generation ago. Baddock leeching off of the Pritchard like a shadowy spectre of a monster. A glance at their unsaturated souls told her enough; they were satisfied with their parents’ power, the current status that they have. <em>They are only looking for protection, </em>Aries said, <em>not to further their power.</em> Just like Severus. Prioritising their own survival, ensuring their comfort beneath the feet of a king.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Straight back, steady eyes, soft smile.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Astoria Greengrass, honeyed hair, liquid eyes – Draco’s fiancée since birth, younger sister to Daphne Greengrass. Pretty. When pictured together, her classically beautiful features, the matching colour scheme, brought out Draco’s pale features. Complimenting. Yet not overshadowing. Like Lucius and Cissy. An exact copy of them. The next Lord and Lady Malfoy. Cissy chose well, but not well enough. Where Cissy’s spine were forged of steel, Astoria’s was delicate and flexible, like a vine. Excited eyes darting back and forth among her fellow females, yet shying away into herself whenever a boy looked in her direction. On a second thought, perhaps Cissy did choose well. After all, how would a meek wife go against her husband? Astoria had the most incentive to curry favour with Aria – to escape the engagement, to regain her freedom – with Aria holding the personal favours of not just the Malfoy Matriarch but also Draco and Aries.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Straight back, steady eyes, soft smile.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Out of all the first years, the girl seated directly before Aria bothered her the most. Hera Ambrose, the sole heiress to the infamous Ambrose knights; proud slanted eyes like a cat, like a <em>lioness</em>, vibrantly dark like amethysts fixed onto Rachelle’s silvery blue. Where Aria was cautious, she was self-assured. Like Dante. Like a fellow hunter. And she radiated magic. Magic that was perfectly grey. Streaking through her hair, winding ‘round her fingers, curling throughout her body like silver armour. Something about her screamed familiarity, screamed kin – a protector. Yet, Aria never knew of her, had never met her, coming back blank at the frenzied search within her mindscape.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Straight back, steady eyes, soft smile.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A mantra anchoring her to the present, to resist taking bite of every single egg presented to her, to resist the desire to gaze into their souls, to resist lashing out at the uncomfortable coddling magic of the Headmaster, to resist indulging in the ambrosial-like magic of Hogwarts. Their souls, Dante Zabini’s and Hera Ambrose’s, felt similar to hers – yet vastly different. Felt like friend – yet foe at the same time. The wary stare from the former and considering frown on the latter disturbed her. <em>They should kneel at her feet, </em>something within her screamed, <em>proudly displaying their nape for her. </em>And that she should take care of them.</p><p> </p><p>Wasn’t that a strange instinct, to see to the needs of another. Even Cheshire had fended for itself, occasionally rubbing against her shoulder in askance of a brushing – but even that had been left to the elves nowadays. One’s magic felt like an overeager puppy restraining itself to lick at her palm, while the other curls in the corner, growling in threat.</p><p> </p><p>Her molars grinded against each other at the grating buzz behind a delicate hand as she subtly fed magic into the muffling enchantment on her ring.</p><p> </p><p>Like what Cissy taught;</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Straight back, steady eyes, soft smile.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The body. The eyes. The lips.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The trinity of nonverbal communication.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>- - -</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Head Table</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When James first laid eyes on her, he was taken back to memories of chasing after Lily, cold green eyes sneering at his presence before she softened up to him and accepted his courtship. Lily, his darling. His ambitious lioness. Never seemingly satisfied with the Gryffindors despite her popularity, mesmerised eyes glued to the Slytherin table during mealtimes. Envious at the widely-known secret Slytherin Court, at how familial name and blood purity mattered little within the house – only power. (Ironically, the reigning king at that time was a muggle-raised half-blood, something Pritchard.) And she was powerful. The first generation wizards always were. Only Moony could keep up with her smarts, only Severus could follow through their discussions, only Regulus could battle against her wits.</p><p> </p><p>And now, he saw it in their daughter; Lily’s ambition personified.</p><p> </p><p>A second borne yet as powerful as their Hadrian. Where she was monochrome, Hadrian was a stark spot of ink. Where her eyes were firmly shut – and he had thought her blind, a failure of a spare – Hadrian’s were always wide open, the deep emerald of Lily’s eyes briming with curiosity at the world, at magic. James had thought his bravery and Lily’s ambition went to their first born. But now, as he sat on the high table, and properly looked at his daughter for the first time, the girl with white hair sitting tall among the scrutiny, calculative green eyes (<em>just like Lily) </em>scanning over not just the Slytherin table, but also the other three houses, he wondered how he had missed all that three years ago.</p><p> </p><p>How he had dismissed her as a defective spare during her birth.</p><p> </p><p>“If only she went to Gryffindor,” Sirius muttered, shoulders slumped. “We could’ve saved her.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Padfoot,” he murmured in a daze. “She was destined to be in Slytherin.”</p><p> </p><p>And as his eyes met with noble emeralds, James thought of the muggle blood and purely light magic that blocked off so many doors for her, where her potential was left in the flames of her rage, where a whole other branch of magic was cut away from her – a world she longed to be a part, a world she felt infuriated at the injustice of her birth.</p><p> </p><p>A world that blessed Solaria with all that Lily couldn’t have.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(Where the Lily birthed the sun she always longed for.)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>Dinner among the Slytherin first years were a quiet affair. By etiquette, no one could eat before Aria starts eating, and no one could speak before Aria spoke. Thankfully, the rest were able to dine for Astoria had served Aria a small healthy platter of meat, fruits and fresh water almost immediately after the Headmaster clapped his hands, announcing the start of dinner. Her actions earned a well-practised sneer from Rachelle, who wanted to retort but, as Aria has not spoken, she had to remain silent, piling another plate with macarons and yuzu tarts in retaliation, trying to win over her favour with sweets instead of a healthy meal.</p><p> </p><p>Aria glanced at Aries over the passive aggressiveness, who immediately averted his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Amusement tugged at the corner of her lips as she watched the childish struggle of Astoria and Rachelle, both glaring silently at each other, hand firmly tugging at the rim of the plate, the last slice of treacle tart innocently caught between them. It was immature, and Cissy would have frowned at their blatant display of favouritism, yet Aria found it adorable. Childishly innocent. The naivete of a world not yet lost, where they remain in the illusion of safety the upper class brings, their parents brings. That naïve gleam within their eyes were fresh and endearing, unlike Aria and Aries, who have seen the ugliness of the world through their relatives and parents.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“It won’t be what you expected,” Marvolo kneeled before her, large hands enveloping around both her palms, a semblance of a joint prayer. Warm. His scent chasing away the last dregs of anxiety clogged in her veins. “Aries and Draco wouldn’t be able to protect you in Slytherin. They value power; power that you earned yourself. Your family name means little in a duel – in fact, it is a shackle.” And he smiled, reassuring and confident, “If I, a mudblood, made through it and still had an enjoyable time, I’m sure you can do it too.” A hand cradled her cheek. Aria rested her lips against his palm, snuggling into the warmth, and whispered, “You’re not a mudblood…” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“And neither are you.” Lashes lowered at the insinuated remark, closing her eyes and enjoying brief respite from anxiety. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>You’re the highest among your peers, act the part. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A plate of lemon tart clacked lightly against the wooden table before her.</p><p> </p><p>“Eat.”</p><p> </p><p>Rachelle gasped.</p><p> </p><p>Astoria dropped the treacle tart.</p><p> </p><p>Aria hummed, inclining her head at Hera Ambrose. Ignoring Rachelle’s scandalised expression and Astoria’s disbelieving blinks, she sliced a small piece of the tart with her fork. Aria smiled at Aries’s raised brow, Cissy had drilled manners into them after all, and took a bite. Sour and sweet; a combination of opposing flavours harmonising with each other.</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo was right; it was fun.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Announcement</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Just like at the Dursleys, the food was forcibly snatched away from her; disappearing at the clap of the Headmaster’s hands, her fingers jolting at the disappearance of the macaron in between the serviette: <em>and she had saved it for last… </em></p><p> </p><p>“Now that you have been fed and watered - ”</p><p> </p><p>Rachelle scoffed, “what are we? Abraxans?”</p><p> </p><p>“There are a few announcements I have to make. Professor McGonagall will be stepping down temporarily as the Transfiguration Professor, Mr James Potter will be taking over her position temporarily.” Retorts turned into cheers and wolf-whistles, congratulating Hadrian. The Slytherins nearby shifted uncomfortably, furtive glances shooting in her direction. Something Pritchard wasn’t discreet at all, outright staring at her, mouth opened in preparation for whatever nonsense he was going to ask. A glare from Augustus and an elbow hit to his gut from Malcom Baddook clamped his mouth shut. Aria looked to Aries, who nodded at her unasked question. <em>He is their puppet.</em></p><p> </p><p>And just as quickly, it died down at the reverberating slam of the double doors, thunder and lightning announcing his entrance, outlining his silhouette, scaring multiple students into squeaks and yells. The supporting player of this game. Aria leaned forward, resting her cheek on a propped-up arm, fingers pressing against her lips as she observed the disguise; translucent grey barrier enveloped the indigo soul-egg, fuzzily obscuring it.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” Like it wasn’t planned, the Headmaster feigned surprise. “Everyone, please meet Senior Auror, Alastor Moody.”</p><p> </p><p>The heavy wood of his artificial leg thumped against the cobbled floor, echoing in the hushed silence. Moody’s artificial eye swivelled in the socket, madly darting in all directions before landing on Aria. A secretive smile shared between them, though Moody’s resembled a snarl with his scarred features, a respectful nod disguised as stretching of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Together with Mr Sirius Black, they will be teaching Defence against the Dark Arts – their experiences as Aurors would be extremely beneficial for our OWLs and NEWTs students.”</p><p> </p><p>Excited whispers fluttered at that, only to turn into loud booing and protests as soon as the Headmaster announced with a dismayed expression, “And I regretfully have to say Quidditch is cancelled this year.” Up the table, Aria could hear Draco’s distinct posh voice, <em>my father will hear about this!,</em> joining in with the other Slytherins – presumably the Quidditch team. Aries nudged her with his shoulder, an open palm beneath the table, that smirk unbearably gloating. That idiot. With a <em>tsk, </em>she slipped three shiny gold coins into Aries’s hand.</p><p> </p><p>“On a joyous note, I am proud to declare the reinstatement of the Triwizard competition!”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me, the <em>triwhat?</em>” shrieked Rachelle. A confused question of <em>what’s that? </em>came from something Pritchard; <em>what a useless figurehead, </em>Aries muttered under his breath, folding his expression into something much more pleasant when the said boy looked in their direction for answers, instead of his two puppeteers.</p><p> </p><p>“Originally establish some seven hundred years ago, a champion will be chosen from each schools, and compete against one another in a series of magical tasks. In rotation, the schools each hosted the tournament every year to strengthen ties among the three largest European schools of Wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Our guests will arrive in a month’s time, along with their potential champions,” increasing his volume over the roar of excitement that overcame the student body, “which, due to the dangerous nature of the task, we have decided to set the age limit to Seventeen.”</p><p> </p><p>Aria thinks she might be sick of how capricious the student body can be, one moment the entire hall is so silent she could hear people breathing, then the next, it was as though a sonorous was casted on multiple roaring dragons. Cheshire’s hissed, its grey paws pressed against grey-tipped ears, flat against its skull at the deafening yells and were those <em>Weasleys trying to throw their plates at the Headmaster?</em> A raise of a wrinkled hand stopped the plates mid-air, swirling in a blur of bronze into brown robins, cheerily chirping towards the Weasley twins.</p><p> </p><p>“He left out that it was cancelled because the death toll got too high,” an upper year finally explained to a confused Pritchard. “Not just the champions, but also the spectators and hostages they are required to save.” Sneering in the direction of the Gryffindors, he added, “it appears that the Golden Boy wouldn’t be the centre of attention this time ‘round.”</p><p> </p><p>Aria lowered her lashes as she combed Cheshire’s fur, the dizziness of anxiety licking against her skull, fluttering and disorienting. Rabbit-quick heartbeat pulsated rapidly, reminisce of when Vernon cannibalised his own son; when she had first instigated a murder. Time came to a halt. Boisterous noise muted as though her head is underwater, her mind drifting between the astral plane and physical plane. <em>You just need to choose a decoy, something, someone to take the focus away from him, and we will ensure the rest. </em>As she took a deep breath to calm the adrenaline of bloodthirst, the world came back into focus. Aria bit down on her lip.</p><p> </p><p>Hadrian can be in the spotlight as he wishes – <em>he must – </em>and she will ensure that at all cost.</p><p> </p><p>And as the Headmaster dismissed them, as the prefects started to lead the first years out of the hall; among the moving crowd, standing still within swirling blue and bronze, was a young girl with silvery blonde hair and baby blue eyes – her attention fully on Aria, a knowing smile dreamily etched on her features.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Her eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Slytherin Common Room</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He trailed at the end of the crowd as the fifth year prefects, led them down the winding staircases, down into the bowels of the castle, a maze of grey stones and black shadows. <em>Remember it well, </em>he had said at the beginning, <em>the path to greatness. </em>A double meaning caught by all. Though if any of his peers missed that, then Dante thinks it is well deserved they are swallowed by the castle, lost within the grey stones.</p><p> </p><p>Burying his nose into the black scarf, he peeked at the small figure at the very front through his bangs. She was a terrifying thing. The white-haired Black Heiress with a kneazle trailing by her side. A kneazle that smelled of magic, unlike its entirely muggle appearance. And so like its owner. Both had death clinging onto their white hair, covered by icy wind. They brought the image of a white skull half buried beneath white snow, backdropped by dark skies and dark clouds, to his mind. A sight so common every hunting season in the winter. So reminisce of a fairy tale of the Snow Queen; she who turned whoever she loved into ice so they’d stay by her side forever.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, the foreign fragrance of petunias wafted around her in bits and pieces, like petals fluttering in a whirl of wind. Unnatural in the way it doesn’t belong to her; where the rest slotted perfectly together, the sweet perfume of petunias were dislocated. He hadn’t encountered one with that kind of scent profile – usually they would be pieces of a puzzle, making up the whole picture. Emotions were connected to taste, personality was connected to scent. The odd scatterings of the flower weren’t one Dante was familiar with.</p><p> </p><p>And that screamed danger.</p><p> </p><p>And the rest were rolling over, unaware of the threat, showing their belly, begging to be rubbed and showered with affection like subservient dogs. Begging from one who appears to laugh defiantly at life’s horror, at the presence of death, turning her cheek the other way. Dante knew her type well enough – his mother was of the same breed. Possessing a cat’s indifferent amusement, letting others play around her as they please in a charade of social structure determined by men long dead just to turn their game on them. Enjoying the ivory road paved ahead for her; a road fashioned from skeletons. Someone who would willingly cast aside others for her own benefit. Just like his mother. For their own survival, how many men had died an accidental death? How many men had been fooled again and again by the cold beauty, unseeing of the monster beneath that veneer?</p><p> </p><p>Ten was the answer.</p><p> </p><p>The ghost of bloody flesh on his tongue, filling his entire senses. Slippery beads of blood coated his palm as sharp fingernails pierced the flesh, hidden in his pocket, the pain chasing away that red cloud of hunger. Beneath the mess of curls, the scarf, his wince of pain went unseen by all but one, briefly meeting amethyst eyes and breaking contact just as fast. The girl who carried the scent of iron and smoke. Of metallic blood. Just like him. Hope fluttered within him, a wounded dog so desperate for a companion perked up.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps she was the same as he.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps she could understand him.</p><p> </p><p>His bite-mark of a scar throbbed at his chest as Solaria Black glanced at him over a shoulder before disappearing between floating bricks into the den of snakes.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The common room was artfully decorated in luxurious European-styled furniture, grand and extravagant, yet the silvered fireplaces and earth-toned rugs gave a cosy touch. A wall of portraits were displayed on the wall with the largest fireplace, between two large windows. There were no lumos nor lamps, only the orange hue from the fireplace and the occasional candelabra on large tables with multiple seats. Light filtering in, shaded by the lake, mixed with the orange hue, casted the entire common room in dark green.</p><p> </p><p>Groups of armchairs and settees were obscured in shadowy corners, places where the fireplace couldn’t reach. As the prefects led them into the centre of the common room, directly under the sole chandelier, the sound of robes rustling and the sight of dark silhouettes moving in the background started to unnerve the first years. Prey prettily displayed in the spotlight, their fear and caution illuminated for the prowling predators hidden within the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>Behind her, she could feel Astoria huddled closer to her back, hands hesitating then gripping the hem of her robe. Her fear of the other serpents made her more daring, jolting at every movement. The trailing upper years filtered in as they remain standing in the light, disappearing into the shadows. A passing Draco scoffed in amusement at the scene of a stiff Aria with a timid Astoria hidden behind her, using her as a meat shield. The fifth-year prefects were lounging against the wall by the side, carefully observing their reactions, picking up every fear, every nervousness they displayed. A classic power move; having them wait while being singled out by the entire house.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome to Slytherin,” the female prefect’s voice rang out in the silence, jolting a few first years. “I am Vivaldi Valentine, a fifth year prefect. My counterpart is Neos Noll,” hazel eyes flitted to the wizard with brown hair and grey eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“In sequence, these are the other Prefects: Adrian Pucey and Cassius Warrington from sixth year.” A youth with dark hair and eyes waved his hand at them, while the other with blonde hair gleaming under the chandelier curtly nodded his head, stern blue eyes never leaving their group.</p><p> </p><p>Vivaldi then indicated to the two young adults stepping into the pool of light. “Lucian Bole and Lilim Gamile from the seventh year. Our Head of House is Potion Master Severus Snape, who will make a speech after mine.” Aria’s eyes flitted over to a shadowy corner with the familiar scent of bitter chocolate of his magic. Fuzzily, the night blue of his magic that outlined his figure dipped in what looked to be a nod of acknowledgement. A few students by his side shifted in surprise.</p><p> </p><p>Clapping to regain the attention on her, “Slytherin has three rules all must follow, failure to do so will be met with <em>disciplining</em> by me.” A smirk pulled at her red lips, white teeth gleamed sinister green under the artificial lamps, blood red hair framed her sharp features. She reminded Aria of Bella.</p><p> </p><p>“The first rule: all snakes stick together, any dispute will be settled within the common room. So don’t let me catch anyone of you biting each other where all the rest of the school can see or I’ll slice off your fingers one by one.” A blood-thirsty grin marred her features. <em>Definitely Bella-vibes.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Second: familial names and external connections have little authority here,” The grin left her face, eyes searching out every single first years, holding eye contact; locking gazes with Aria for a beat longer. “Your mother or father or whoever that backs you up in polite society will have to abide by Slytherin’s rules; especially the <em>Lord </em>of our most esteemed House.”</p><p> </p><p>She felt the eyes of multiple snakes on her and Astoria’s grip on her sleeve flinching.</p><p> </p><p><em>Little authority</em> instead of <em>no authority; </em>familial names means little within this walls but it does outside of Hogwarts, so pick your enemies wisely.</p><p> </p><p>Slytherin house will respect Lord Slytherin’s decision of protecting Aria.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Message received. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A trap hidden within hopes of rising through the ranks, unburdened by heritage, money and blood purity. A dream where overtly ambitious snakes will meet their downfall. The perfect bait of weeding out the perfect figurehead.</p><p> </p><p>It was a game Aria knew all too well – the Malfoys played it all the time. Lucius and Draco, the proud tyrants. Cissy and Aries, the king-makers. Such dynamics in the Malfoy family had fooled many, even Aria at the start. Slytherins are the aides whispering from the shadows, planting seeds here and there, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The puppeteer behind a figurehead; like Marvolo and Minister Fudge. Like Severus whispering into the Headmaster’s ear.</p><p> </p><p>A game the Slytherins knew and had seven years to practise, before entering society.</p><p> </p><p>“The last and final rule: obey the hierarchy in here. The current reigning Queen is Lilim Gamile.” A witch with pin-straight hair like indigo silk waved her fingers at them. “Any and all power struggles will be determined by a duel facilitated by our Head of House, or the Queen.”</p><p> </p><p>Vivaldi Valentine ended her speech with a curt nod at Severus Snape who drifted out from a corner near Pritchard, scaring him into squeaks.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome to the House of the Great,” deep voice drawled silkily. “Slytherin is the House of Ambition, where alliances are formed and discarded regularly. Today’s friend is tomorrow’s foe; no friendship is permanent, no loyalty is binding without a magical vow. I dearly hope none of you would be fools enough to delude yourself into thinking like a Hufflepuff.” Sneering at the timid first year hiding behind Aria, he added, “The weak are cannon fodder, the strong are the cannon, and the powerful will command the cannon.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How kind of Severus to warn them.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Severus’s gaze shifted to meet Aria’s, pushing a memory of a package and Marvolo’s face forward as he continued to speak. “I will be available in my quarters after seven. The prefects will show you to your dorms.”</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>The door opened up to a living space had two settees and two armchairs. A pantry and two doors, presumably the bathrooms, were at the left wall while the right had a fireplace and a large table with four chairs for studying. Further front, on a raised platform, were their beds. Four-poster beds in dark walnut wood and silvery sheets. Emerald curtains framed their beds, as well as the floor to ceiling balcony at the very end.</p><p> </p><p>Aria’s bed was closest to the balcony – which on a closer look, was definitely located under water, shielded in a large bubble – with Hera’s by her side. Astoria was opposite of her and Rachelle was opposite of Hera. The aforementioned package seated on her bed; a silvered velvet box with cornflower ribbon. Cheshire jumped onto the mattress, pawing curiously at the ribbon, tugging it loose with its fangs. The box revealed a circular mirror, a little larger than her head, with eight petals joint and spiked at the outer extremities, resembling sun rays. Enclosed was a letter from Marvolo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aria,</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Legend has it that this mirror was fashioned in the image of the sun to lure the Sun Goddess out of her self-isolation. Sixteen rays split in half when thrusted into her cave, leaving two pieces of the mirror. A continuation of the myth scribes the goddess handing one half of the mirror to her grandson when he descended down from heaven with the message; “Look upon this mirror as my spirit. Keep it in the same house and same floor as yourself, and worship it as if you were worshipping my actual presence.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Runes are inscribed behind this mirror. Simply feed your magic into the runes as how you activate your ring, and call out my name. Its twin is shrunken and hidden within my robes, and I will answer whenever you call. I suspect Regulus and Narcissa will be sending their own form of communication to you soon – I have heard they commissioned a magical craftsman in the town they manage to fashion a hand mirror.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I will see you in our dreams.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Stay safe,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Marvolo</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>After her nightly routine, as she laid in bed, curled under the sheets with Cheshire, her fingers softly traced the indented ink, memorising his handwriting.</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Robin Room</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>In the aptly named Robin room, azure curtains fluttered against small little windows. Windows no bigger than the size of a head, panelled in light blue stained glass, so whenever the sun rays filtered through, the room would drown in a sea of ice, emphasised by blue quartz ceilings and tiles made of quartz. Both possessing latent magic to lower the temperature surrounding them. The room where unwelcomed guests are invited to – to strangle any requests they’d make, the atmosphere of the room freezing their lungs, their words like shards of crystals piercing through their throats.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Robin; the harbinger of death.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Narcissa lifted a porcelain cup, the tea swishing close to her painted lips but never touching, magically disappearing a little by little – a trick taught to all Black Ladies – before setting it down. Her eyes remained closed, silvery blue dusted her eyelids, lined with gold, framing her lashes. The cycle repeated for one, two times; little clattering of porcelain against porcelain were like music to her ears, the unsteady breaths of her guest.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes slivered open, irises luminated via a charm casted in the morning, the outline of Alice Longbottom’s heart and vessels were clearly visible to her, rabbit-quick. Plain turtleneck and muggle jeans. Boots still carrying the scent of fresh soil. Hair tied messily in a bun. Smidges of dirt underneath her fingernails. She hid a smirk behind her teacup, Andy must’ve dragged her straight from the Longbottom greenhouse. She’s had that habit about her, since young, always dragging others into her mess, dashing straight ahead with her wants; uncaring of the discomfort she caused.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Cold Reading, a skill her mother drilled into her, and in turn, a skill she drilled into her daughter. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Andromedea cleared her throat, setting down the teacup harshly – perhaps to irritate her – and smiled warmly, the contrast jarring Alice Longbottom in this frigid atmosphere. Brown eyes glanced hesitantly at her sister and Narcissa suppressed the corners of her lips into submission at that little slip. Contempt does not sit well on a lady’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“Rumours have it that you claimed Solaria as your goddaughter.”</p><p> </p><p>How presumptuous, using Aria’s name so directly. Narcissa studied the challenge on her face, a plan forming in her mind as Andy revealed her true intentions of a sudden visit to Malfoy manor. Let’s egg her on then. “Rumours are just rumours, Andy. You should know better to believe in such flimsy lies.”</p><p> </p><p>Andromedea, to her credit, did not fall for the taunt, but the Longbottom Lady did. Bristling, as though her hatchling – one she abandoned – was forcibly taken away from her nest, she retorted, “I am her godmother, named by her <em>true </em>mother.” And there it was, the infamous Gryffindor brashness, “don’t you think its shameless to steal someone’s daughter away because you can’t conceive your own?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wow.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jumping onto the wagon, Andromedea agreed, “Yes, we all know how much you wanted a daughter,” her brows slanted in mock pity, “it’s a little too much to claim another’s daughter just like that.” She waved her wand, the scroll sitting on the table unfurled. “We have a custody document drawn up, with Lily’s blessings.”</p><p> </p><p>Blessing indeed. Lily Potter’s signature curled in large loops, stamped with the Potter’s insignia. Narcissa sighed, that backhanded comment was overused all too many for her to be affected by it; now, she was just weary with the lack of imagination others had pertaining to polite insults. If they wanted to engineer guilt in her, they should try harder.</p><p> </p><p>Contorting her face in the same expression of pity Andy had used, she shot a commiserating smile at her and derisively said, “Dear Sister, have you not heard?”</p><p> </p><p>And when the silence dragged on for a beat longer, Andromedea snapped. “What.”</p><p> </p><p>“That document is obsolete now,” Andy always had a temper. “It had caused such a fuss within the ministry after all.” Snapping her wrist, wand slicing through the air between them vigorously, jolting the other two, a scroll gilded in gold sailed from the aumbry, and into Longbottom’s lap. An exchange of confused glances and she gingerly unrolled the scroll, both huddling close to read the content.</p><p> </p><p>Narcissa pretended to sip at her tea. Waiting.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>One.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Two.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Three –</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You’re her nanny?!” Both exclaimed in unison.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, it is the greatest honour my dearest Head of House bestowed upon me.” A gentile expression should taunt them even further now. “You have my commendation for finding a loophole, where James Potter attended the trial and abandoned his custody but Lily Potter didn’t,” her pitched raised exuberantly, mockingly, “Lord Black, who Lord Potter relinquished custody to, had signed this contract under familial magic; that Heiress Solaria<em> Black</em> will remain with me until she reaches magical maturity.” Narcissa allowed a giddy giggle to overtake her, grin spreading further, with the insinuation Aria was bound under familial magic, that she was a <em>Black </em>before a Potter.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure my lovely daughter will allow visitation.” To drive the dagger deeper, Narcissa used the same reason they provided in Lily’s contract. “Greater love hath no mother than this, that a mother lay down her life for her daughter.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And wasn’t that a bold-faced lie?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>- - - </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bonus:</p><p>Meanwhile, in the boy’s dormitory, Aries had his wand drawn, poised at Graham Pritchard.</p><p>“I was just asking if Black is your pet!</p><p>The smile fell off his face, eyes freezing into twin orbs of steel. “You should have kept your mouth shut. Incendio.”</p><p>No one answered his screams.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. politics have no relations to morals pt. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1 - of Snakes and Flowers<br/>2 - Light's Prelude<br/>3 - Easter Egg<br/>4 - Bitter Tea Party<br/>5 - Love?<br/>6 - Soul Collector<br/>7 - Guiding Light</p><p>Are the flowers &amp; animals symbolism going to end? Probably not.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>“Politics have no relations to morals.” – Nicolo Machiavelli</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>2 September 1994</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>of Snakes and Flowers</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>There existed a small cottage in the middle of the woods, surrounded by foggy forests and misty wisps. It only had one floor, a single bedroom, an adjacent bathroom, a library and a kitchen. For an abode owned by the Black Heiress and Slytherin Lord, it was considered humble. One night, amidst windy fields and a sea of blooming hyacinths stained red, a confession involuntarily tumbled out of her lips. <em>I had always wished for a place of my own, </em>she whispered, <em>I longed for freedom, for idyllic peace. </em>As they laid side by side, entwined hand in between them, wistfulness laced his reply, <em>so did I. </em>The next dream, within their shared mindscape, she found pieces of lumber stacked neatly, and the tall figure of Marvolo clad in casual wear tapping his chin consideringly. <em>Let’s build a place of our own, </em>he beamed, <em>one where none can touch, can take it away from us.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>His memories took the form of books, neatly titled and shelved away. Hers took the form of flowers, blooming vividly in black and blue; the colour of death and sorrow, the colour of bruises he knew too well. Every time he stared at the flowers for a moment too long, she’d look away; afraid of what she would see.</p><p> </p><p>Some days, they would follow a young Marvolo, into the Library of Alexandria, the magical city of Atlantis, the sacred temples of Mother Hecate.</p><p> </p><p>Some days, she would find him cradling a withered white lilac, mourning her lost innocence.</p><p> </p><p>Some days, he would find her reading a battered old journal, silent tears streaking down that blank face as she read about his childhood.</p><p> </p><p>Some days, they would spend the time silently enjoying each other’s companionship, magic flowing freely. Where her ice-cold clouds healed and soothed the insanity of a fractured soul, his white-hot serpents would show her the joys of life, how the simplicity of searching for hidden prey, of eating, of soaking up under the sun, could make her heart full with joy and her shoulders droop in relaxation.</p><p> </p><p>After touching a grey cat-tailed grass, Marvolo saw how much her loneliness consumed her, before Cheshire entered her life and offered her a steady companionship, yet never thawing her frozen heart.</p><p> </p><p>How many times have he caught sight of the desire on her features when death came up in the conversations? He had seen how Narcissa would wrap her within her arms, as if chasing away any threats. He had seen how Cheshire would stand at attention whenever a walrus-like man passes them in Diagon Alley. He had seen how Regulus would trail after her like a lost cub, softly demanding her presence at his side.</p><p> </p><p>After playing with a small, green garden snake, Aria saw how much his humiliation consumed him, churning into injustice, anger, hatred, manifesting into a tyrannical ruler.</p><p> </p><p>How many times have she caught sight of the fear-turned-relief upon her entrance on the Knights’ face? She had seen Rodolphus trembling unlike a Lord in his position when she held his hand back at Gringotts. She had seen the exhilarated joy on Rabastan after every duelling session turning into wariness the moment Marvolo enters. She had seen the stumbling steps and shivering hands of Severus after Marvolo demanded his presence. Wide eyes, gulping throats, trembling shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>Did they ever address this between them? No. And perhaps they never will. Both souls tightly entwined with each other, the connection gaining strength with every dream they shared. With every memory they saw, they understood. A sort of silence acceptance no matter what atrocities the other did – or will do.</p><p> </p><p>And it was all they needed.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Light’s Prelude</strong>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>2 September 1994; Early Morning</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aria did not like writing letters. Narcissa had told him, in passing, how she despised the hope of anticipating a reply back. The excitement nauseates her, shaking her off balance; unable to concentrate in anything. So during a nightly meeting with his Knights, when a tawny barn owl flew into his office at Malfoy Manor, landing in front of Regulus, leg stretching out a parchment with his soulmate’s name at the bottom, Marvolo couldn’t help but shoot an <em>immobulus </em>at the bird.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Best be cautious.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“ <em>‘Dear Lord Father, I am writing this to request for Alice Longbottom, my godmother, to be my nanny instead of Narcissa Malfoy. Yours Sincerely, Solaria Potter-Black’ </em>– what is this?” Regulus hissed, the small piece of parchment coming blank at every diagnosis or tracking spells.</p><p> </p><p>The person had covered their tracks well – too well. Her handwriting was mimicked by a spell. There were no traces of sweat, grooves of fingerprints or even any lingering magical signatures. Perfectly blank. There were multiple spells that could achieve this effect from a simple cleaning spell, focused on the parchment instead of ink to an Auror-grade spell to erase all traces of identifying agents on any material.</p><p> </p><p><em>Though,</em> Marvolo tapped his chin, <em>an Auror would leave false tracks.</em></p><p> </p><p>From the wide, unblinking eyes of the Hogwarts barn owl, the recent trespassing of Tonks, the ignorance of the widely known fact that Aria only ever refers Narcissa as ‘Cissy’, and Longbottom’s recent visit. Marvolo knew who he was dealing with within seconds. He took in a deep breath. He <em>really </em>did not have time to entertain a school boy.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell Aria to bring forward the plan.” He doesn’t have any desire to deal with the unnecessary family infighting; and she needs to concentrate on her education. “Eliminate such distractions for her.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll inform her,” Narcissa curtsied, then dashed out of the room in a flurry of lace.</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo sighed. <em>Where’s Nagini when he needed her.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Easter Egg</strong>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>2 September 1994; Early Morning</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A solemn man in a solemn manor; that was his impression of his new Lord. Stoic, vastly different from his temperamental father. Walls previously painted red with mindless torture of his subordinates were now replaced with dark green wallpaper, bouquets of serpents adorning every wall lamp, their eerie green eyes glowing in the perpetual gloom. Heavy drapes blocked out the rising sun, slivers of orange piercing through the darkness like a total solar eclipse.</p><p> </p><p>For a man bearing the Sun God’s name, he seemed to despise the light, Faustus Gamile mused. Polished shoes muffled by the carpet – moss green perhaps, it was hard to see in this darkness, even with enhanced vision – carried him to the fourth floor at the east wing, three steps up a narrow archway, at the thirteenth step at the spiral staircase, there it was. The finned tail of the Leviathan.</p><p> </p><p>Faustus tapped the tail with his cane, and it slithered out of view, revealing a knob. A twist, stepping into the outline of an angled entrance, the door softly clicked shut behind him. An errand, the new Lord said, specifically singling Faustus out, sending him to some isolated part of the manor like an errand boy. Like he wasn’t a high elf. Like he wasn’t the sole Elf Lord in Britain. A boy trying to fill his father’s shoes, taking over Voldemort’s Knights as he pleases; Faustus scoffed.</p><p> </p><p>Russet eyes, chestnut curls.</p><p> </p><p>Ruby eyes, scaled skin.</p><p> </p><p>The serpent should have devoured the sun (<em>son</em>).</p><p> </p><p>Barbed banisters ran parallel against each other by his sides, a pathway of dark porcelain, chalky smooth like eggshells beneath his shoes. Perhaps this was an elaborate form of torture; his cane barely gripping on the powdery floor, and like a newly birthed fawn, he stumbled towards the blurry statue at the end. A whispered incantation of <em>lumos </em>lit the statue of a nymph, the bloody tears streaming down her cheeks, dripping from her chin and gathering in her cupped hands. <em>Creepy. </em>Faustus dropped the bell-shaped lilies into the pool of blood, watching the crimson chewing away at the petals.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Submerge this flower at the statue, and retrieve the honey-coloured egg for me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And as the statue swung outwards, he suppressed an instinctive flinch at the shadowed figure.</p><p> </p><p>“Pardon me,” his voice echoed off the marble walls. “Lord Slytherin sent me to retrieve a green egg.”</p><p> </p><p>When they didn’t reply, Faustus stepped forward, inching closer towards figure. His cane dropped from his hands, eyes widening at the milky-red, unseeing eyes staring at the ground, arms folded behind its back like a soldier standing at attention. <em>A lion beastman.</em> Tentatively, his fingers poked its snout, raising its jaw as he examined the corpse. It was perfectly preserved, the distinct cloying scent of a rotting beast was absent, its skin was firm and supple, the mane silky and soft. The black suit stretched over its muscular torso, and its tail laid at their feet. It resembled an oversized doll instead of a corpse. In fact, the entire room had the stench of death blanketing it – like a mausoleum.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wasn’t suspended animation a common phenomenon in necromancy?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The floating ball of lumos multiplied at the wave of his hand, little fairy lights diffused around the room. Three figures kneeled before an empty throne, a woman in crimson, a man with black hair and an adolescent boy with sable hair. All with veils over their faces. Somehow, he doesn’t think this room belonged to Lord Slytherin. The throne was too small, too dainty for a man as tall as the Lord, and there was a woman’s touch to the room. Burgundy flowers displayed in simple vases littered the room; two at the small desk and a row on the shelves. Clustered together, they resemble spots of blood.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Honey-coloured egg.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Turning away from the kneeling corpses, he searched the row of egg-shaped ornaments, wispy smoke and glittering mists swirling in the glass dome. All of varying colours. They were like muggle snow globes, only enchanted to swirl eternally. There it was, seated between two muddy ones, one labelled with a ‘V’ and the other a ‘D’ was the honeyed egg; fine amber grains swirling with little dots of black like inverted stars.</p><p> </p><p>What was so important about this for it to be guarded that preciously?</p><p> </p><p>And who did this room belong to?</p><p> </p><p>Rather, he should be asking why Lord Slytherin sent him here.</p><p> </p><p>Faustus stopped by the desk, egg carefully cradled in a hand, the other curious hand shuffled through the messy stacks of bound parchment and leather journals, idly tidying them up as he went about. A fountain pen was left uncapped, midnight ink dripping from the silver nib.</p><p> </p><p>He capped the pen.</p><p> </p><p>As an elf, he had lived through multiple centuries, picking up languages long dead and forgotten. Serving under Lord Voldemort had allowed him the privilege of viewing parselscript. But this language written on all of the parchment and journals, it was one he didn’t recognise. Along with calculations and arithmancy too complex for him to make sense of. 21 alphabets repeated too often for it to be codes, rather, it resembled parselscript. Only with angles and curves. Without the phonetics, he doubts he could crack it in such a short time. A non-descript black tome seated at the centre caught his attention, a pressed poppy bookmark laid on the open pages.</p><p> </p><p>A twitch of his index brought a nearby lumos closer, and as it illuminated the yellowed page, an electrifying chill went down his spine.</p><p> </p><p>He cradled the egg closer to his chest, lips pulled back in a grin. So that was why Lord Slytherin sent him, Faustus Gamile, the loyal aide of Lord Voldemort, to retrieve this seemingly unimportant egg.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Horcruxes.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>That’s not his son.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>His Lord was back.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>He didn’t stop to question who that room belonged to.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Faustus was being overly enthusiastic; Marvolo grimaced as he warily stepped into the common room, gloved hands accepted the artificial soul-egg.</p><p> </p><p>“My Lord!” Faustus dropped to the ground, knees hitting the floorboards with a resounding thud that even Fenrir cringed at. Eyes wide with adoration and unfaltering loyalty, he declared, “I’m so glad you’re alive!”</p><p> </p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p>Right.</p><p> </p><p>He forgot to inform him about his true identity.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Merlin, is he going to cry?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo gave a curt nod, side stepping the emotional elf, hurriedly walking through the door with as much grace and dignity as possible, leaving the gobsmacked wolf to deal with this mess. Did the blood flowers contain a hallucinogen? Either way, he just hoped Faustus hadn’t make a mess of her desk.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>2 September 1994; Early Morning</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aria woke to Rachelle’s shrieking.</p><p> </p><p>In the limbo between sleep and the waked state, she contemplated ripping out her vocal chords. Three seconds passed; Rachelle quietened and someone lit a lumos. Cheshire purring indignantly at its interrupted slumber by her side, fur rumbled and sticking out like a hairball. Pushing herself up from the bed, Aria immediately questioned if she was still dreaming. A landslide of question marks flooded her mind, her eyes wide, stunned, as she stared at the two figures kneeling in total darkness by her bed.</p><p> </p><p>Weren't they supposed to have the Friday and the Weekends off? To settle into Hogwarts? </p><p> </p><p>“Gamile, what are you doing.” Hera asked, or rather, demanded in a very flat tone.</p><p> </p><p>“My Lady,” and the Slytherin Queen, neatly groomed and was so full of gusto at – she glanced at the <em>tempus </em>Astoria casted – 5:05AM, Aria felt all her social energy for the day draining. “I am Lilim Gamile and this is Leraje Gamile, my younger sister. We are the guards Lord Slytherin sent. Allow us to escort you today!”</p><p> </p><p>Aria went back to sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“What happened to rule number two?” Hera asked as they gathered at the living area in their dorm, eyeing the full breakfast platter on the table, a serving set aside for each of the witches, with suspicion.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yes, that is still in effect for the rest, but it was a direct order from the Lord of this house. As Slytherins, we are bound to obey him, so none of the snakes would dare to directly hurt you.” Leraje explained. “The order was ‘protect Solaria Black’, but it doesn’t state that we cannot harm you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Everyone in my court, the prefects namely, are your allies. Vivaldi <em>thoroughly</em> interrogated and investigated them - ”</p><p> </p><p>“The bloodshed…” her sister dryly recounted as she refilled Aria’s tea.</p><p> </p><p>“ – so please approach them if you require anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wasn’t there supposed to be a female prefect in the sixth year?” Rachelle asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Leia was my younger sister, but she passed away from the ear cropping…”</p><p> </p><p>“Ear cropping?” Her fork paused.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s something necessary if we want to blend in with the humans. We elves aren’t very good at glamours unlike the Fae or the Nymphs, so cutting our ear to resemble a human’s is the safest way. It is also the only identifying mark of our race.” At the look of horror on Astoria’s face, Lilim reassured. “It’s quite painless.”</p><p> </p><p>Tucking her hair behind her ears, Leraje leaned her head closer to Rachelle. Aria drowsily took a sip of the Earl Grey, side-eyeing her ear. It looked the exact same as a human’s, albeit slightly crooked. Aria contemplated the casual trust they had in the company she keeps. <em>Elves are very loyal, </em>Regulus explained, <em>they would pledge their allegiance to one they trust for life. </em>Surely Marvolo wouldn’t mind if she swiped a few elves over to her side.</p><p> </p><p>“And how much of your ear was cut off?”</p><p> </p><p>“About three-quarters.” Lilim answered Hera. “Although slaves have their entire ears cut off and sold.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>So much for the benevolent charitarians.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>2 September 1994; Late Morning</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dearest Draco,</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I do hope you and your siblings are safe in Hogwarts, especially your sister – we all know how much she loves the forest. Your father and I misses you dearly. Why, the other day, was I surprised to learn from Lord Black that your sister wrote to him, requesting for Longbottom to be her nanny. I admit I am deeply hurt by the insinuation I am not doing my job well, I should have paid more attention in household charms in Hogwarts instead of focusing on Quidditch. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>From your mother,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narcissa</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Do you…” His hand fumbled, gesturing wildly at the letter. “Did you?”</p><p> </p><p>“If I am able to hurt Cissy’s feelings with a letter,” Aria slowly spoke, questioning his intelligence, “she would have cried at some of the things I said to her back then.”</p><p> </p><p>Aries bent down between then, an arm resting on Aria’s head, the other snatching it out of Draco’s hand. “He was too busy hiding behind father from your scaly friend to pay attention during the briefing.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this? Draco’s scared of a snake?” Theodore taunted behind them.</p><p> </p><p>“I was not scared,” Draco huffed, sicking a cushion at Theodore’s head at the muffled snort. “I was simply mesmerised by its beauty.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah right.” Blaise scoffed, ducking at the stinging hex. The red spell dissipated against the empty common room.</p><p> </p><p>“Mother probably wrote it to you since it’s common for you to receive letters and… <em>Care packages</em> so frequently.”</p><p> </p><p>“Perfect.” Aria stood, silencing any argument that might break between the brothers. “Draco can be our decoy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, that sounds good.” His smile left no room for any negotiation.</p><p> </p><p>But Draco still protested, “Wait, no it doesn’t! Where are you two going?”</p><p> </p><p>“Preparation.” They chimed in unison.</p><p> </p><p>“How am I supposed to be a decoy?” Draco asked no one in particular, exasperatedly.</p><p> </p><p>He slapped a cushion over Blaise’s head at his snicker.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Bitter Tea Party</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>2 September 1994; Tea Time</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>As though she were Alice, she felt like she fell down into a rabbit hole. There was always a first for everything, especially when she’s faced with the reality of a proper tea party outside of Cissy’s tutelage. How do they get used to the simpering sycophants and watchful eyes searching for any mistakes, Aria doesn’t know – her initial thought of disappearing with Cheshire into the woods seemed much more appealing than ever. And she would have followed through with it, if not for the horde of protective serpents.</p><p> </p><p>It tasted sweet, like the nectar she’d suck out of the rhododendrons Petunia so lovingly tended. How far had she come. From scavenging like crows to eating tiny, elaborate pastries. Back then, she didn’t have a favourite food; she couldn’t afford to. Yet, now, Earl Grey milk tea was her favourite drink and lavender macarons were the first she’d reach for. Who knew that she would develop a taste for such luxury.</p><p> </p><p>The powdery pink handle, shaped in a crescent vine, and red petals adorning the white porcelain brought out the rose red sheen of the tea. As though she was holding liquified rose within her hand; feminine and coy. Matching pastries and tableware in different shades of pink, red and white artfully arranged to appear like a giant flower.</p><p> </p><p>“They call this tea <em>La Madona Rose</em>; named after the largest rose quartz. Their petals appear crystalline but are soft and silky to the touch.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s delicious,” Aria lied; the petals she’d greedily swallow to fill her stomach, the clear metal of unknown slabs of meat the ravens brought for her remained on her tongue. Flowers still tasted like flowers, no matter how expensive they were.</p><p> </p><p>Who was the Mad Hatter and who was the Alice, she wondered.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Love?</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>2 September 1994; Evening</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Do you think that he truly loves you? That he is capable of love?”</p><p> </p><p>She paused on her way to the forest. Stormy clouds over casted the path, much like the expression that flitted across her face momentarily. The goat had grown brazen in his old age, daring to confront her so rudely, insulting Marvolo without so much of a ‘<em>hello, how are you?’ </em>Cheshire growled in her arms, fangs bared at the headmaster.</p><p> </p><p>“Love? Don’t be absurd.” Manners are not applicable on those who can’t even greet politely. “What we have transcends what you mortals call love.”</p><p> </p><p>It was not love. Not even close. What he had was possessiveness; like a child hungry for power presented in front of him. What she wanted was protection; and who else could stand against the Headmaster? Having a Dark Lord in her corner, curling around her like a protective beast, that sort of power thrills her to no end. When you have tamed a monster; when you are the precious thing the dragon protects. The assurance of safety and comfort, solid companionship from the immortal serpent; one who desires you just as strongly as you for him.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps no one else could understand this twisted form of ‘love’ they had. Where they turned a blind eye to each other’s atrocities, empowering the sadism within each other. Her protector, her teacher. The soul connection growing stronger, complementary magic binding each other together, to the point she doesn’t know where her magic starts and his magic ends. A bundle of thread tightly spinning into robust fabric of time.</p><p> </p><p>That sort of pure love in fairy tales and novels – they were too damaged for something like that. They were children the shepherd abandoned, leaving no other choice but to make a deal with the serpent.</p><p> </p><p>The first droplet landed between them, splattering, followed by a light shower of melting clouds. Clicking her tongue, she disappeared into the dark foliage, never bothering to cast an umbrella charm. Focusing his magic, a biometric scan revealed no wand signature. And an empty black hole within the woods. Not a squib; rather magic concealed – perhaps an ancient artifact.</p><p> </p><p>The withering trees and falling leaves were a reflection of his hope, and Albus feared the monster the everlasting winter will forge.</p><p> </p><p>Humans were never rational creatures. To reveal their true colours, anger them. To reveal what they truly hold dear, push them to the brink of desperation. Accede or reject the cards they are dealt with. In her hubris, the child had revealed a weakness.<em> Mortals.</em> <em>Now</em>, Albus clasped his hands together, <em>was she born a creature or did she follow in Tom’s step for immortality?</em></p><p> </p><p>It was time to scour the Potter’s ancestry.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Soul Collector</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>2 September 1994; Evening</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The rain used to be cold, piercing through her bones and shivering as she stood outside Ginny’s house, waiting and waiting and waiting. Yet, now, as she stands under the willow tree, watching the other surrounded by a horde of thestral, she thinks the rain felt like kin; a soothing balm for her anxiety. What she had seen was true – there’s another like her; more powerful, more terrifying.</p><p> </p><p>Luna thinks she looks so proud there, so calmly enraged surrounded by the heralds of death. For a moment, she thinks she might send the stallions to drag the Headmaster into the afterlife. In a way, Solaria Black reminded her of thestrals – her true nature invisible to those who hadn’t witness death, devouring souls with insatiable hunger, blood dripping from her mouth like divinity. A macabre yet entrancing sight – so hauntingly. So ethereal. Hair like fluffy clouds and eyes the colour of seafoam, she feels as though she will slip out of her hands, disappearing like the incorporeal things the clouds and seafoam were.</p><p> </p><p>It was also the kind of beauty that instilled fear in others, intimidating others for she was so inhuman.</p><p> </p><p>If she swore fidelity to her, would the soul collector be able to revive her mother?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Guiding Light</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>2 September 1994; Midnight</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She stood in the middle of a clearing, cloak dampened by the light shower, rain dropping like streaks of light under the waning crescent moon. A night of surrender. Softly chanting under her breath, the witch kneeled before a circle of glowing runes. The conditions were perfect – too perfect to be coincidental. Her first four days at Hogwarts – the time needed to stabilise the magic – were during the waning crescent, and over the weekend, no one would notice any strange behaviour.</p><p> </p><p>They were all busy preparing for classes.</p><p> </p><p>Two spots of poisonous green glowing faintly, a halo of black clouds and floating silver hair. Long, drawn out notes sailed through the clearing, a song. Shamanic music; a form of communication to magical creatures, seeking their assistance. The dull thud of hooves against wet soil as the centaurs stayed watch, tiny fluttering pixies dropping small beads of magic, collected from plants, into rune indents. Nature spirits facilitating the life force of the trees, fuelling the runic circle.</p><p> </p><p><em>He is here, </em>Mana warned.</p><p> </p><p>As the last of the lyrics trailed into silence, her eyes reverted to the normal green, hair settling around her shoulders. The sharp crack of a branch behind her and the hexagonal silencing dome flared to life, encasing them in a world of silence. Without turning around, she greeted the man behind her, instinctive from Cissy’s lessons. “Sirius.”</p><p> </p><p>“Solaria?” Wide eyes taking in the two centaurs and the bumbling pixies as they scattered away from them. The nature spirits, seated high among the branches watched him with wary gazes. “What are you doing here with the creatures?”</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, she turned around, and smiled oh so politely at him. “I see you’ve received my note.”</p><p> </p><p>“You wrote this?” He demanded, fist shaking the crumpled parchment. <em>Meet me alone in the forbidden forest. Tell anyone and Hadrian Potter will die. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“I didn’t think you’d fall for such a simple trap,” she dryly muttered, half-amazed that Draco’s plan really worked. A dark of white among the shadowy foliage. “I was prepared to drag you out by force.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m here now,” he scowled. “What do you want?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your soul.”</p><p> </p><p>Three things happened simultaneously then. Grinning, she burst into a sprint just as Cheshire emerged, in all its glory, behind Sirius, tackling him to the ground and Mana shot from her shadow, coiling around him, the distinctive crack of a bone muffled beneath its scales and she straddled his torso in one smooth motion. Thumbs in the windpipe. Index fingers against carotid artery. Middle fingers against the jugular vein. Within three seconds, with Cheshire’s legillimency, Sirius slumped in Mana’s coils, eyes rolling back to white, unconscious to the world.</p><p> </p><p><em>(Aurors are trained to withstand torture, </em>Marvolo lectured. <em>However, they are still humans, and there are always simple and efficient ways to break them.)</em></p><p> </p><p>“Good girl,” she praised, scratching the back of its ear at the welly done job of fracturing his mind.</p><p> </p><p>The feline purred, turning away and tossing Sirius by the scruff of his shirt into the runic circle. It then proceeded to join the centaurs in keeping watch for any potential interferences. Meanwhile, one of the nature spirits handed Aria her satchel. A ritual dagger would be the best for this, but she had never learnt how to peel potatoes with a knife. So a muggle peeler would do.</p><p>
  
</p><p>She pressed the blade flat against his chest. A pause as she wiggled the device, feeling the peeler catching his skin. Then in one sharp movement, she slid it down, a ribbon of flesh curling off. Perhaps it was the peeler, but she didn’t think it would be so easy to flay someone that she was caught by surprise at the fluidity of it.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps she should feel something, Aria ruminated as she continued flaying Sirius. Guilt; for doing this to one of her family, for committing and going to commit a heinous act to a human. Anger; for the betrayal, the abandonment. Fear; for the consequences, for the failure. But she continued on, methodical and dispassionately.</p><p> </p><p>Sirius Black is a threat.</p><p> </p><p>Regulus hasn’t fully recovered from Azkaban, and he is in no form to duel should Sirius challenge him for the Lordship. Their idiot of a father lied to Walburga, casting him out of Grimmauld Place instead of formally and magically disowning him. Andromedea had eyes on Aria’s position, intending to give it to her daughter, using Nymphadora’s age, her metamorphmagus status and a familial rule where any metamorphmagus born was first in line for the lordship. There was another rule, older than the former, stating a Necromancer has top priority over the succession. But Necromancers will be charged with the usage of Black magic and tossed to Azkaban.</p><p> </p><p>Even though Aria had the highest priority.</p><p> </p><p>Even though she was of the main line, a necromancer, a soul seer.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It was all fucking useless in this society of Light.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gritting her teeth, with more force than intended, she flayed the very last strand of flesh, jolting Sirius into consciousness.</p><p> </p><p>“Tsk.” <em>Now, then the anger comes</em>.</p><p> </p><p>For this ritual to properly work, his mind and soul has to be broken thoroughly – and there’s no better way than pain. She has planned this ever since summer, and she’ll be damned if this ritual fails. Conversing with Walburga had revealed multiple aspects of the Black’s disciplining. The Cruciatus curse was her apparent favourite. From Marvolo’s lessons of <em>‘how to torture someone creatively’</em>, and her own personal experience, she gathered an Auror like Sirius Black would have gotten used to pain, his nerves no longer functioning as per normal. An immunity towards the Cruciatus curse was common within Marvolo’s ranks – Bella can no longer feel pain.</p><p> </p><p>Ever since summer, when Andromedea and Sirius demanded an audience through Narcissa, a plan had been formed. The headmaster and the Potters were too much of a prolific target, Remus Lupin was useless, and so were the Weasleys. That only left Sirius; and no one would question his entry into Grimmauld Place, seeking to reconnect with family. In fact, the Headmaster might even be elated to have another spy.</p><p> </p><p>But this should do the trick.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(Your victim should feel as though they are on fire with just a simple touch.)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When their nerves are bare to the air, over-sensitised, even pleasure could feel like pain. A simple poke could send pain equivalent to having your fingers cut off. Lying on the floor, blood pooling to the site of the wound, desperately healing itself – the heat of it was more than enough. Disgusted at all the failing and wriggling, a very <em>enthusiastic</em>kick to his solar plexus sent him unconscious.</p><p> </p><p>“Idiot. If you had just stood up instead of smearing soil all over yourself like a swine in heat, the pain would have been minimised.”</p><p> </p><p>She wondered why she was speaking to the half-dead man. The anger must have sent her rationality away.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Child, we must hasten.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She breathed out a heavy sigh, clenching her fist, slippery red dripping onto the egg hovering by her side, keying his loyalty, his affection and his very own soul to her. By herself, perhaps all of the souls she created would’ve failed. All acting as an elaborate form of the Imperius curse, nothing more than a parasite – not a proper replacement. But Mana, her very own magic, had gained awareness. Its own consciousness. It knew the process, the mathematics and calculations behind the creation. Hence, all Aria needed to do was fuel magic into Mana, letting it handle the formation of the egg.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Cogito, ergo sum – I think, therefore I am.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>An amortentia none could undo.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Atop of his chest, tiny red vessels, originating from the point of contact, wrapped around the honeyed-coloured egg, sucking Sirius’s blood as nourishment. Just to be safe, Aria carefully arranged bundles of milkweed around the egg, covering his body entirely. <em>Four hours she had to wait, </em>Aria sighed, stepping out of the circle. Mana lazily swum through the air, head resting on her shoulders, body coiling her torso and tail wrapped around her leg. Cheshire neared the half-dead Sirius, eyes never leaving the soul egg central in the ring of milky-pink bouquets.</p><p> </p><p>Laying against the dead willow trunk, long black vines and shrivelled leaves partially shielding her from the crescent moon. Through a yawn, she ordered, “Mana, Cheshire, centaurs, keep watch. I’ll take a nap.” A humming hymn, a low purr was her answer and two grunts were her answer.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Child. The egg is hatching.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>She jolted up, eyes fixed onto Sirius. The milkweeds were gone, Sirius deathly pale, and the egg resembled a chrysalis at this point; the orange-black wings of a butterfly contrasted against the translucent shell, its body slowly emerging, needle-like appendages piercing through the soft shell. Slowly, <em>slowly, </em>its wings emerged, rumpled. Aria held her breath as she watched its wings unfurling. Crystalline amber streaked with black, emitting grainy smoke and latched onto Sirius’s torso. It was as large as Sirius’s head. Using its legs, it tore through the flesh, sucking his blood as it went along burrowing into his magical core, its proboscis drawing out Sirius’s soul, using its own existence as replacement.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The artificial soul took the form of a monarch butterfly! </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Aria could laugh at the irony of it all. They were insects that relied heavily on the sun’s light, unable to function without it. Symbolically, they represent a guiding light to one’s higher spirituality. How fitting, for Sirius to be guided back into the right direction by the cold sun. Placing her palms on his torso, Aria knitted his flesh back into pristine condition. There were no traces of the butterfly anywhere; even the chrysalis was absorbed into the insect.</p><p> </p><p>“Sirius,” Aria smiled belovingly, hand stroking his hair as she cradled his head on her lap. His eyes fluttered open, unseeing for a moment before a thin ring of black encircled his iris. The rising sun reflecting flecks of amber within those grey eyes. “Albus Dumbledore and the Potters are plotting for my death, and Severus is dubious at best. Can I trust you to spy on them for me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, pup.” He grinned, eyes full of false, <em>false</em> adoration she thinks she might throw up. “They taught that in Auror training.”</p><p> </p><p>The large serpent slithered out of view, eyes flicking back to yellow from red. A hiss activated her portkey.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah, that's Mana speaking to her. It thinks of Aria as its child instead of the other way round.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. my confusion swirls and swirls, dizzyingly, I wonder if I'm still human</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Slytherin 1st Years:<br/>Males: Aries Malfoy, Augustus Carrow, Dante Zabini, Malcom Baddock, Graham Pritchard<br/>Females: Solaria Black, Hera Ambrose, Astoria Greengrass, Rachelle Nott</p><p>Slytherin Court (Prefects)<br/>5th Year: Neos Noll (M) and Vivaldi Valentine (F)<br/>6th Year: Adrian Pucey (M) and Cassius Warrington (M)<br/>7th Year: Lucian Bole (M; King) and Lilim Gamile (F; Queen)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong>"My confusion swirls and swirls, dizzyingly, I wonder if I'm still human."</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She disappeared, as suddenly as she came, in one breath.</p><p> </p><p>Vacant eyes stared above, the crack in the wood panels resembling a bolt of lightning; a translucent-shelled spider dangled from the middle. She’s safe here, like how a brownie would hide within cupboards and hidden cracks. Unseen. Unheard. She likened herself to these whimsical creatures - appearing then disappearing as they wished - who cleaned and cooked and cared for the homeowners. Leave a bowl of milk and cookies by the hearth and the brownie will stay, and if they didn’t, the brownie would wreck the furniture, splinter walls and shatter windows.</p><p> </p><p>She would’ve stayed if they gave her milk and cookies. Fluttering heartbeats and coy glances at the red-bricked fireplace, always hoping, hoping, and hoping for their gratitude. <em>Look at me, I did all my chores.</em> But they didn’t, and unlike the brownie, she couldn’t leave as she wished. Voices in her head muttered disagreement, probing her to abandon all reason, to let it out, let it devour them.</p><p> </p><p>Let her magic raze them to dust.</p><p> </p><p>And like ice, it was. Pulsating magic, clustered at her nexus of a heart, pushed and pressed at her chest, demanding release, coiling and writhing. <em>Please understand,</em> she begged, teary-eyed and exhausted, <em>they’ll hurt me again if you come out.</em> So it didn’t. It stilled, anger fading into echoed frustration as it tried to knit her flesh back, to turn the red into white. She didn’t think it would succeed, the oil was too hot, still sizzling when he poured it over her.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh</em>, said Dudley, dismayed, <em>it’s not like the telly.</em></p><p> </p><p>Of course it wasn’t. Hot oil could never replicate flesh bubbling all over, boiling inside out. That’s fiction. But he didn’t care; her usefulness expired, throwing her back into the cupboard like a ragdoll, red fleshed and ripped shirt. Years later, she’d bitterly laugh at her idiocy, staring with disdainful eyes at the sun-like scar curving her side, tiny, brown starburst flecked her stomach. Magic was limitless; she could’ve thrown them off, erase their memories.</p><p> </p><p>But in that moment, the eye of the spiderweb glared accusingly at her, dizzying moiré circled the spider, condemning her. She shouldn’t feel this jaded at three. The cold darkness promised peace, promised retribution. But - was violence always the answer? Did everything have to end with murder, with death? If so, how many should she allow her magic to kill before achieving her freedom?</p><p> </p><p>Veil of innocence rotted into dripping dust. And as that part of her decayed -</p><p> </p><p>She sighed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For a moment, he swore Narcissa’s visage overlapped with Solaria’s. The way they smiled were uncannily alike; lips curving to the same height, same shape. Eyes crescent and steady, unfalteringly portraying confidence, the assurance that they were humouring the other. Sirius blinked once, twice, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. An ache burned at his chest, his head, his neck. Bony thighs digging uncomfortably; was she always this skinny?</p><p> </p><p>“I had the weirdest dream,” said Sirius, hand over his eyes, “an orange butterfly was singing and my body was on fire. I was trapped in a box, a transparent box, and the butterfly ate me. Like, it had this big, buggy eyes and that straw of a mouth, it just… I don’t know, sucked my body dry? Wait, that sounded wrong.” He peeked through parted fingers at Solaria, face shadowed and haloed hair. White. “That cat, the white cat… It was monstrously large.”</p><p> </p><p>“It sounds terrifying,” came her reply, her fingers, cold, on his forehead. “I assure you, cousin, the cat is quite small.”</p><p> </p><p>He barely registered her words, brow furrowing at her clear, silvery pronunciation. “Was your voice always like that? I thought… Never mind.” With some assistance, he sat up, hand rubbing at his chest, an echoing sting. White memories rose out of his muddy consciousness, petal-shaped; <em>of Lily chanting over his body, of guilt for that snowy-haired child, neglected, of apathy for Hadrian, of Solaria chanting over his body.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Lily, she casted a spell - and you broke it. And they abandoned you. How could they?” He asked, eyes beseeching her for an answer, clarification for Lily’s - Walburga’s - actions, how they treated them like furniture. “How could a mother abandon her own daughter?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, Sirius,” bitter laughter jarred him, so much like his reaction years ago. “I really don’t know. Cissy would never abandon her children.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he chuckled weakly, “she was always mothering us. Kinda funny since she wasn’t much older than me.” He glanced around the clearing, light piercing through withered branches, the remains of a runic circle - one he couldn’t decipher - around them. That white cat, as small as his head, sat beside Solaria, creepily observing his movements. When did she had a cat?</p><p> </p><p>“Sirius,” she called out, voice like a resounding bell muffled underwater. “Who left me at the Dursleys?”</p><p> </p><p>Unbiddenly, his mouth opened on its own, replying, “Hagrid.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hagrid?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And he snapped out of the trance.</p><p>
  
</p><p>That was strange. Shaking his head, clearing that daze, “yeah. Albus told me to give you to Hagrid. I had to chase after Wormtail for his betrayal,” he added on upon her confused frown, “Peter Pettigrew, that’s his name, part of the Marauders - me, James, Remus and Peter. He was the secret keeper for the Potters…” he trailed off, remembering all the fun times that they had - was it all false?</p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>The war, the betrayal, changed them. Remus grew tired. James became overly paranoid for a few good years. Lily was colder, stricter. Hardened by a war they were too young for, burdened with parenthood they weren’t ready for. How many friends have they lost, how many children had carried the weight of their sins? He’d thought it ended with Hadrian, yet Solaria - and Merlin knows how many children - paid for their mistakes.</p><p> </p><p>A child. She was just a child, just eleven.</p><p> </p><p>They were all children.</p><p> </p><p>“And this Peter Pettigrew,” his attention shot back to her, “he told Voldemort where they were?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and you shouldn’t say that name in public.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see. Did you know how the Dark Lord was vanquished?”</p><p> </p><p>“Think Albus said something about a ritual? I’m not sure, want me to find out?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she glanced to the side, momentarily, then her head snapped to him with an audible click that he winced, <em>“you gave me to Hagrid?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Yes? I was the only one who can enter Grimmauld Place. I thought you knew?”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>didn’t,</em>” her voice tightened, “I didn’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>The image forming in his mind, of how similar she was to him, dug memories he’d rather forget. His mother, withholding information from him, capriciously deciding his future, his entire path. “Pup, what Snivellus - “</p><p> </p><p>“Severus.”</p><p> </p><p>“ - yeah, him. What he said, the abuse. That true?”</p><p> </p><p>He has to know. No. He <em>needed</em> to know, to know if he had unwittingly left her to a fate similar to his. Those green eyes coolly regarded him. He felt like he was back in Minnie’s office, squirming with tension, intimidated. Solaria closed her eyes, and breathed out a heavy sigh. That weary expression spoke volumes; child with the jadedness of an adult.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine,” she raised a brow at him, so much like Cissy. Minnie. Sirius faltered, “it’s totally fine. You don’t need to tell me anything. I understand.” He gave her a passable grin, “you must be tired, why don’t you return to the castle?”</p><p> </p><p>Cautiously, she nodded, his heart ached at her doubtful eyes. It’s fine, Sirius told himself, all the times he had neglected her, he can make it up. James would understand. He had seen Sirius at his worst - abandoned by his mother, kicked out of Grimmauld Place - so he’d surely understand Solaria’s affliction.</p><p> </p><p><em>She was the same as him,</em> Sirius thought, watching her cloak billowing like butterfly wings, <em>they were all Blacks.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>- - -</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Once she was far away, she broke into a sprint, veering deeper into the woods. Cheshire at her heels.</p><p> </p><p>Those eyes; those silver eyes dripping worry, so similar to her Father’s. To Bella’s. Disgusting. They were all fooled. Cissy. Marvolo. Aria herself. How could they missed something so apparent, so obvious. It made so much sense; puzzle pieces slotting together, forming an image she’d rather forget. Lily or James, expressing false concern for her, unwilling to take her in - because she had Regulus’s blood, because Regulus was a Death Eater - and asking the only Black under their influence, sending her to Petunia.</p><p> </p><p>To that house of horror.</p><p> </p><p>Sirius Black, the man who’d rather kiss Severus than return to Grimmauld Place.</p><p> </p><p>The man who didn’t want anything to do with them - the Blacks.</p><p> </p><p>She slowed to a stop and crouched down, hugging her knees. Thick trees unaffected by dying autumn linked together, dense canopy blocked the sunlight; little beams filtering through the leaves, dotting stars on the ground. Cheshire’s ringing meows went ignored. Roots, trunks, branches, solid and unwavering, wooden bars encapsulating the white robin - legs chained to golden bars, sight covered with black silk; wings, heavy and drooping, nailed to the bottom. Around its beak, hairline cracks dispersed around the silver band, disintegrating into dark mist.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Her magic froze within her veins, Mana thrashing against her mindscape, thrashing, screaming, <em>let me out, let me devour him</em>. It was so easy to keep her magic suppressed, to make Mana behave, that it felt like breathing. Headaches and temptation no more. Fingers wavering between translucent fog and corporeal flesh. Her eyes felt cold, icy sensation crawling towards her pupils. Fearing her glamour had been undone, limbs crawled towards the pond. And her heart stilled.</p><p> </p><p>Tiny, black spidery vessels lined her sclera, ugly and corrupted. Luminescent green and smoky hair; not just her fingers but also her face dissipating into mist. A phantasm.</p><p> </p><p>She, surrounded by dark fog, was no longer human.</p><p> </p><p>And he contributed to that.</p><p> </p><p>Aria didn’t know how long she remained there, collapsed, hiding her face - her eyes - from the world, numbingly calm, but it was long enough that a snout pushed at her head, causing her to fall on her bum.</p><p> </p><p>Wide-eyed, she stared disbelievingly at the black foal. Skeletal head pressed against her forehead, hollowed sockets centimetres away from her own eyes. Another snout nuzzled her cheek from behind. Rendered speechless, stunned, she froze as the Thestral lightly pushed her backwards until she leaned against a larger body.</p><p> </p><p>Aria huffed. It appears that she belonged with the monstrous after all.</p><p> </p><p>Legs stretched out, head tilted back, resting on muscled neck, lips parted slightly. The coolness around her eyeballs receded when the warm, daffodil light streaked across her eyes. Her thoughts thrown into disarray, confused and concentrating around that name. That giant man, who was he again? Henry? Hagrid? Hagrid. The half-giant. She saw him at the feast, beside the goblin professor. She had heard that name before.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Where?</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Rubeus Hagrid</em>, Mana supplied after its tantrum, pushing an image of his name forward, his name in Marvolo’s handwriting. The student Marvolo framed. He was expelled, she was sure of it; Marvolo ranted about an acromantula and wolf cubs, then scoffing at how simple it was to convince everyone Hagrid’s pet murdered that muggleborn.</p><p> </p><p>He had earned a prize.</p><p> </p><p>Sweat evaporating in the autumn chill, hair sticking against her neck, her forehead. Was she back to human now? Frustrated sigh forced out. The exhaustion from the ritual finally weighing her shoulders down, stitches in her side and legs painfully aching. Idiot, she was an idiot. Both hands covered her face, the urge to scream broiled at the base of her throat. How troublesome. How annoying. Things have gotten complicated, threads tangled together, and she didn’t know how to unknot it.</p><p> </p><p>Sirius was essential; his soul was under her control. There’s no one more trustworthy to spy on them. But Rubeus Hagrid, perhaps -</p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn’t do it.”</p><p> </p><p>Aria whirled around, wand drawn, poised at the other girl. “You’re…” that girl she saw at the feast, the one staring at her; the girl whose soul she can’t read.</p><p> </p><p>“Luna Lovegood,” she introduced, “But some people call me ‘Loony’ Lovegood.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s terrible,” said Aria, flatly, after a beat of confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it?” questioned Luna, cocking her head to the side, silvery-blonde hair catching constellations of sunlight fell over her shoulders, revealing a wand tucked behind her ear. And bright, radish earrings? “Oh, this?” she pointed at it, “it’s the same as your earrings actually. Daddy said they’ll protect me.” Blue eyes focused on her, side-stepping a red beam from Aria’s wand, and dreamily, she said, “I wouldn’t kill him if I were you,” her tone as light as asking about the weather, “he’s his man, and he’ll be suspicious if he’s gone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you?” Aria irritably scowled. Questions oscillating as quick as her own mood.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve already introduced myself,” she chastised, “it’s quite rude to not do the same.”</p><p> </p><p>“Black. Now answer.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve seen you in my dreams - ”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Again?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“ - and I’ve seen what you can do. But I’m not your enemy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Seen?” it clicked for Aria. “Seer.” Where Luna smiled serenely, Aria tensed. Thestrals surrounding them, unaware - or they just didn’t care. But Aria cared; she cared a lot. Another seer. Another threat - Marvolo met his own downfall by the hands of a prophecy. “Swear it then,” she demanded, haughtily, “swear that you’ll never go against me, or my family. That you’ll stay out of our way.”</p><p> </p><p>Luna gazed thoughtfully at her, and took her wand in hand. Aria flexed her fingers, a <em>protego</em> readily on her tongue.</p><p> </p><p>“I, Luna Lovegood, pledge fidelity to Solaria Black on one condition.”</p><p> </p><p>The tell-tale silvery light of a vow twined between them. Blue and green. “I accept your fidelity,” and it snapped between them, finalising the vow. She was fortunate, she supposed, that a potential threat is lying belly-up, begging to be her entourage. Marvolo would be <em>so very </em>thrilled to have another seer on their side, but first, “what’s your condition?”</p><p> </p><p>“That you bring my mother back to life.”</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, both sheathed their wands, “I can do that,” and as Luna beamed at her, “But. <em>But</em>, I’d need time to recall her soul, to reconstruct her body from her corpse then affix them. I can only do so during the holidays.” Luna nodded excitedly, contrasting Aria’s exhaustion, all her energy drained. The thread had tangled even further. She slumped to the ground with a grace Cissy would be scandalised at. Glancing over her shoulder, “sit. Tell me about Hagrid and the Headmaster.”</p><p> </p><p>Luna excitedly jogged over.</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p>“He thinks you’re the Dark Lord’s weapon, that you’ll be the monster who brings humanity’s downfall. He knows you’re not human,” Luna started, “but he doesn’t know what exactly are you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know what I am?”</p><p> </p><p>Swaying slightly, rocking her bare feet into the soil, Luna hummed thoughtfully, “I’m not sure,” Aria’s hopes immediately shrivelled. “I’ve seen you raising the dead, giving life. On a battlefield, an older you - quite scary I’d add - turned into this black fog, and your eyes were different. Brighter, no pupils, bleeding black. But the exact name of your race is unknown, it’s blurry to me. What I do know is,” Aria’s ears perked up, “you’re not a true seer.”</p><p> </p><p>Another identity crisis, knot tangling thicker. “What?” Trepidation seized her heart, “What do you mean? They all said I was - <em>I am.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Calm down, you’re tired and cranky,” ignoring her glare, Luna continued, “it’s just a hypothesis from what I’ve seen; your sight might be an ability your race wields, like how birds are born with wings and a beak. But that magic of yours, your ‘companion’, that’s an indication you’re also an Obscurial.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” said Aria stiffly. “Marvolo told me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Luna asked, dubiously. “He told you everything?”</p><p> </p><p>“Obscurials are formed when young mages suppress their magic, developing a dark parasitical magical force.” <em>Mainly through abuse. </em>“They never make it past ten.”</p><p> </p><p>“And the Headmaster has a certain fixation on Obscurials, he would do anything to get his hands on you if he finds out you’re one. He believes an Obscurial could be healed, either through love or removal of the Obscurus. Of your magic.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s why I have all these accessories - so no one will figure out.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t hide forever.” sad, blue eyes met hers.</p><p> </p><p>Aria turned away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She was well aware of how she appeared to others. Small, fragile, elusive. And she wasn’t above using it. Her magic coaxing out the protectiveness of others, playing on their guilt, their affection, their inherent instinct to <em>protect. </em></p><p> </p><p>The first she noticed something was changing was when at eleven, momentarily, her fingertips dissolved into clouds, trailing silvery mist. When magic started to seek hers out, gravitating towards her. When she felt like a conduit, a nexus, magic revolving around like how planets do with the sun. When she watched him torture a muggle with detached curiosity, unlike a Death Eater who had to excuse himself halfway, green-faced, she was disconcerted with how removed she felt from normal emotions.</p><p> </p><p>Bit by bit, it was like her heart had finally frozen after so long - numb and unfeeling.</p><p> </p><p>She feared her feelings towards her family would change.</p><p> </p><p>Marvolo wasn’t human; maybe that was why she felt such vivid emotions with him, but never had she the chance to learn what creature he was.</p><p> </p><p>And what creature she was.</p><p> </p><p>If only such apathy could numb her trauma under the Dursleys, wouldn’t that be convenient? Fear, anxiety, the rush of power, still flowed within her, but never the true joy she would see in others; where a simple action of care could spark a beaming smile. She doesn’t think she had ever felt such unadulterated happiness.</p><p> </p><p>The children around her, her schoolmates, seemed so insignificant to warrant any reaction out of her.</p><p> </p><p>A wall had built between her and the other students. Them, striving to connect, to hurt, to please, magic reaching out but never touching. Aria never bothered breaking that wall down, still preferring solitude after leaving the Dursleys. Distant frustration stormed; realising such mortals had attached these chains to her. Humanity that appeared more and more like animals instead of people.</p><p> </p><p>When had she started calling them mortals; referring to them as another race?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe she was the beast instead; destined for such loneliness.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know what’s going on anymore.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Where’s Aria?”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s not there when we woke,” Astoria replied, “I thought you knew where she was.”</p><p> </p><p>Draco shook his head, strands coming loose from his low ponytail. A head of white entered his peripheral, “Aries, where’s Aria?”</p><p> </p><p>A helpless smile graced his features, his entourage following him. Blaise’s brother, Draco noted, was not among them; a side glance to Blaise earned a shake of the head and a hand slicing his neck. <em>Another solidary snake.</em> The smallest boy, all the way at the back, was trembling heavily, face pale and slicked with sweat. Red patches, freshly healed burns, dotted his neck, skin peeling off the back of his palm.</p><p> </p><p>Draco indicated to the boy with a tilt of his chin, “what’s wrong with him?”</p><p> </p><p>Said boy retreated into himself even further.</p><p> </p><p>“Pritchard was playing with fire spells,” the boy at Aries’s left spoke, dark, <em>dark</em> blue eyes like bottomless seas, wrinkled as though he had greatly inconvenienced them, not the other boy. At Draco’s raised brow, the universal Malfoy action of <em>‘and who are you?’, </em>he introduced himself at a low bow, “Malcom Baddock, I am honoured to be in your presence, Heir Malfoy.”</p><p> </p><p>Wasn’t Baddock the half-blood, new money, family? Draco recalled, from his Father’s lectures, that they rode House Pritchard’s tailcoats. He levelled a cool, unimpressed glance at him. “That so.” Turning to Aries, he warned, “offensive spells in the dormitories will result in expulsion.”</p><p> </p><p>Pritchard was whiter than Aria’s skin at this point.</p><p> </p><p>“So I’ve warned him,” sighed Aries with a troubled smile, inconvenience painting his every expression, every action.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t need to remind you first years that expulsion will result in a snapped wand and disqualification from magic,” a passing Cassius Warrington warned, “<em>do I</em>?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The common room was empty when she returned. So were her dorms. Flicking a finger, wispy numbers indicated it was breakfast time. Loudly, Cheshire meowed, pawing at her ankle, indicating to its muddy fur.</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” she muttered, “let’s go bathe.”</p><p> </p><p>A wave of a hand had a black crossover robe and a sea-green outer robe trailing behind her. Absentmindedly, Amaterasu’s mirror followed them into the bathroom. Magic was certainly convenient, she sighed as the bubbles submerged her, automatically removing grime without the need to scrub. The showerhead from above washed out any suds in her hair and she slicked it back with wet fingers. Rested on her knees, Cheshire was a giant bubble.</p><p> </p><p>The mirror hovered by the bathtub, and a privacy charm later, she called, “Marvolo.”</p><p> </p><p>A second of rippling, like a muggle’s phone dialling tone, before his face appeared, colours vivid against the bathroom’s dark tiles.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you bathing?” Asked the Dark Lord incredulously, a flurry of movement on the other side as he chased someone out of the room. Aria yawned, slipping deeper into the bubbles, the feline clutched at the edge. A few seconds, and he returned, she noted he was dressed in a similar crossover robe as the one she chose. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>A second of silence. Then, a kick sent bubbles overflowing. “Everything,” she whined, “<em>everything’s wrong</em>. Sirius, Hagrid, Luna, Dumbledore - I don’t even know anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Hagrid?”</em> an amused, devilish smirk curved his lips, “tell me more about how Hagrid has ailed you.”</p><p> </p><p>Giving him as deadpan of a stare as she could, “Hagrid left me at the Dursleys.” There goes that smirk, Aria passively watched all emotions withdrew under a controlled mask.</p><p> </p><p>“Start from the beginning,” voice tight.</p><p> </p><p>“Sirius said something about a ritual you-know-who - ” he scoffed “ - did to smite you into dust. His task is to gather information on that while spying.” Her finger twirled around a loose curl, “Sirius entered Grimmauld Place and took me, giving me to Hagrid who then place me at that horrid place - the scent of lilies is all over this plan. Then, I met Luna Lovegood, a seer who can see into the future,” Marvolo indicated for her to continue at her green, questioning glance.</p><p> </p><p>“She pledged fidelity to me, on the condition that I revive her long-dead mother. She also said I’m not a true soul seer,” a swish of water and Aria leaned against the bathtub, cheek resting on a hand, a mirror to Marvolo. “Her hypothesis is that my sight is an innate ability my creature race holds. She mentioned Dumbledore has a fixation towards Obscurials as well.”</p><p> </p><p>His shoulders stiffened. After a moment of contemplation, he divined, “Grindelwald.” Harsh laughter echoed off the tiles. “Darling, maintain the act for four years. Build your powerbase, establish your authority among the sheep. Show them, and I, why I chose you as my equal.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m nowhere near your equal,” she pointed out, confused. “I can’t even cast an incendio after a month of training.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aria,” said the Dark Lord exasperatedly, “you are still young. I have decades of experience; you’re only in your first year.” Burgundy eyes flecked with mirth, “I commend you for your composure whilst dealing with Black, however you lost your calm with that seer.”</p><p> </p><p>His tone left no room for excuses. Shards of fury - not at her, never at her - sliced through their shared link. A jolt of pain twitched her fingers; an omen of what’s to come. They could be each other’s destruction, yet leaning against each other’s back, their wands pointing towards the world. She need not be afraid of him, she <em>knew</em>. He would never hurt her, their souls bare to each other, always truthful, always there.</p><p> </p><p>However, there was nothing a monster feared but another monster.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not his pup.” She tried to change the topic.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course not,” he purred. “you belong to me after all.” A pacifying smile graced his features, “If it eases you, you may call yourself my equal and establish your authority among my ranks after Hogwarts; after you have your own followers. Until then, I’m your Lord.”</p><p> </p><p>Head tilted to the side, she rolled that suggestion over, considering. A set parameter for her to freely navigate around, without all the pressure, all the stress. She nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“The following weekend,” she turned her attention back to him, “we will be going to Gringotts together.”</p><p> </p><p>“What for”</p><p> </p><p>“Why,” malice lacing every word, gleeful cruelty, “to cripple the Light, my Love.”</p><p> </p><p>- - -</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow. I was away for a while and I returned to 800 kudos. I can't express how happy I am at your comments and support ;v;<br/>I got a little carried away with studying, and before I knew it, it was almost 3 weeks since the last update. I have no excuses.</p><p>I made a new friend, check out her work! Harriet Black by Shieldmadien22</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I dreamt of a talking cat and hence, this abomination was born.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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